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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



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MEDAL LIBRARY No. 36 



10 CEi. 


STREET & SNITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK 


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Medal Library 


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BEST AND MOST FAMOUS BOOKS EVBR 
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CATALOGUE. 

37. Commodore Junk. By Ceorge Manville Fenn. 

36. In Barracks and Wigwam, liy William Murray Graydon. 

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34. The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green. By Cufchbert Bede, B.A. 
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8 Kit Carey’s Protege. By Lieutenant Lionel Lounsberry. 

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'E trust that you will be thor- 
oughly satisfied with this book. 
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IN BARRACKS AND 
WIGWAM 



WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON 


AUTHOR OF “THE CRYPTOGRAM,’' “FROM LAKE TO WILDERNESS,” 
“THE WHITE KING OF AFRICA,” ETC. 





TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 
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Entered according to act ©f Congress in the years 1895, 1S96 and 1900 
By Street & Smith 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


SECOND COPY, 








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00- W 


IN BARRACKS AND WIGWAM. 


CHAPTER I. 

SOWING THE SEEDS. 

Nestled in the heart of the famous Cumberland Valley 
lies the old, quaint, and conservative town of Carlisle, and 
in all the great State of Pennsylvania one would not find 
a more charming place of residence. In pre-revolution- 
ary days Carlisle was a name frequently on men’s 
tongues, and in later years the establishment of United 
States barracks here gave it a military air and prestige. 

At the present time the town is chiefly noted for two 
things — its college and its Indian school. The former 
is a handsome and flourishing institution, of wide renown 
throughout the country. The latter, occupying the old 
barracks on the outskirts of the town, and presided over 
by a Government officer and instructors, is equally well 
known. Here a large number of Indian boys and girls, 
brought from time to time from the reservations of the 
West, are educated and taught useful trades, with a view 
to fitting them for civilized life. The pupils of the school 
publish a little paper, and are justly proud of a fine band 
and a strong football team. 

On a crisp Saturday afternoon in November the major- 
ity of the college students could have been found on the 
athletic grounds, a field of large extent which lay between 
the town and the Indian school. A football match played 


6 


Sowing the Seeds. 

by the teams of the two institutions had just ended, re- 
sulting in a narrowly won victory for the college. The 
spectators had left the ground, but the late contestants 
and their friends were still there, the students talking 
eagerly of their success and indulging in a good deal of 
rough horse-play, the Indian lads mingled here and there 
with them, and apparently taking their defeat with stolid 
good nature. 

Destiny works in strange and unexpected ways, and at 
least three of those present were to look back on that 
afternoon as the turning-point of their lives, and the first 
step of a series of bitter and thrilling adventures. For 
two of them the outlook of the future held the rosiest 
of hopes and ambitions, and they looked confidently for- 
ward to careers of their own choice. 

Linn Hilliard and Bruce Cameron were certainly to be 
envied, and they made a handsome pair as they stood 
surrounded by their admiring friends, the muscular frame 
of each set off to good advantage by his football togs. 

Linn Hilliard, the captain of the team, was just enter- 
ing his eighteenth year. He was tall and well-built, with 
a ruddy complexion, fair hair and blue eyes. His reputa- 
tion and skill in athletics had not been earned at the 
expense of his studies, for he ranked high in the junior 
class of the college, and was as good at Latin and mathe- 
matics as at football and hammer-throwing. 

He belonged, to an old Carlisle family, and was the only 
child of a wealthy banker. Since the death of his wife 
ten years before, Mr. Hilliard had led the life of a recluse, 
rarely venturing into society, but deeply engrossed in his 
lusiness. He was a man of few words, cold, stern, and 
capable of great passion when roused to anger. He had 
peculiar ideas as to the bringing up of children, and 
though he loved his son in his own way, he manifested 
little if any outward affection. 


7 


Sowing the Seeds. 

The banker was not a miserly man, but he limited 
Linn’s pocket money to an amount no larger than a well- 
to-do mechanic would have given his son. The lad did 
not complain, though he found this a most inconvenient 
drawback at times. He knew that his father loved him 
at heart, and took a deep interest in his welfare and 
future; so he was content to rub along as best he could 
on his small income, the amount of which was no secret 
to his college friends, nor to the town people in general. 

Linn had not forgotten the lessons taught him by his 
dead mother. He was brave, honest and truthful, hating 
anything low or mean, and with a rather exalted idea of 
schoolboy honor — which, though awkward at times, is 
rather to be commended than blamed. A few years be- 
fore he had longed to be a soldier, but his father had 
reasoned him out of this. Now it was understood that 
he was to succeed in the banking business, and he looked 
forward with complacent satisfaction to the prospect. He 
believed his early ambition to be dead, but the spark was 
still there, and ready to be fanned into life should the 
opportunity arise. 

Linn’s most intimate chum was Bruce Cameron, who 
now stood beside him, ar 1 -as equally tall and well-built. 
Bruce had dark eyes and hair, and a handsome, haughty 
face. He was a half-back on the team, and had a fair 
ranking in the junior class. He was the son of Captain 
Cameron, the principal of the Indian school, and until 
three years ago — he was now seventeen — he had lived in 
Western towns and on frontier army posts, where he had 
picked up a good deal of harm, and contracted a liking 
for dissipation and bad company. 

But Bruce changed for the better after he came East, 
and he was now one of the brightest scholars in his class. 
His heart was set on a soldier’s life, and his father had 
promised him an appointment to West Point as soon as 


8 


Sowing the Seeds. 

he graduated. This depended, however, on his general 
good behavior, and Bruce was trying hard to win the 
coveted reward. The friendship of Linn Hilliard was a 
great support to him, and kept him from yielding to many 
temptations that presented themselves. He looked up to 
Linn, and valued his good opinion, and the two were to- 
gether so constantly that their classmates dubbed them 
David and Jonathan. 

The third individual who is to play a part in our story 
was standing a short distance from Bruce and Linn, the 
centre of a group of friends. Deerfoot was the captain 
of the Government school’s football team, and he was 
the son of the noted Sioux chieftain, Flying Thunder. 
He was eighteen years of age, and most superbly built. 
He looked more like a Hindoo prince than an American 
Indian, for his complexion was light, and the high cheek- 
bones were conspicuously lacking from his features. 

Deerfoot had been brought East to be educated a year 
before, and he had already earned a reputation for 
bravery, skill in athletics, and truthfulness. But lie was a 
poor scholar, and took little interest in his new life. His 
face was constantly sombre and sad, and it was no secret 
that he bitterly hated and despised the trammels of civ- 
ilization, and longed with all his heart to return to the 
wild, free life of the plains, and the uncouth habits of his 
kinsmen. 

Among the shouting, rollicking groups of students was 
Steve Halsey, a rather flashily dressed lad of seventeen, 
hailing from a large Eastern city. He was the leader of 
the fast set of the college, and was more noted for his 
dissipated habits than for proficiency in studies. As a 
matter of fact, he was nearly at the foot of his class, and 
was likely to he dropped at any time. 

Steve had celebrated the victory by a drink or two from 
a concealed pocket-flask, and his flushed face showed that 


9 


Sowing the Seeds. 

he felt the liquor. Fired bv a spirit of mischief, or of 
braggadocio, he forced his way into the nearest group of 
Indians, and gave Deerfoot a rude clap on the shoulder. 

“Well, we beat you, old cockalorum,” he cried, “and 
we'l! do it every time.” 

“Mebbe so,” replied Deerfoot, drawing himself up 
proudly. “No can tell.” 

“Can’t we, though?” said Steve. “I’d like to know. 
Look here, old man, you’re not in it with us on anything. 
We’ve whitewashed you on football. an! we’ve got men 
here that can clean out any of your set in racing or wrest- 
ling. Don’t you believe it?” 

“Mebbe,” replied the young Indian, with a gleam of 
anger and contempt in his dark eyes. “Me willing to 
run with any white bov ; me throw any one, too.” 

“Hurrah! do you hear that, fellows?” shouted Steve, 
tossing his cap in the air. “Deerfoot challenges you all to 
a racing and wrestling match.” 

In a moment a hundred students had swarmed forward 
and surrounded the group, and Linn Hilliard was loudly 
urged to take up the challenge at once. 

“Let’s have it right off,” cried one. “Win more laurels 
for the college, old fellow.” 

“Go it, Linn,” yelled another. “You can beat him.” 

“I f Linn beats him running I’ll down him ,in a wrest- 
ling match,” Bruce Cameron cried, boastfully. 

Linn was quite helpless in the matter. He disliked the 
idea of being dragged into the race by Steve Halsey, 
whom he heartily despised ; and, moreover, he felt that 
he was no match in speed for Deerfoot. But his com- 
panions allowed him no choice, and the contestants were 
shortly drawn up side by side just within the main gate 
of the grounds. It was agreed that the race should be 
clear around the field, from corner to corner, finishing up 


io Sowing the Seeds. 

at the starting point. This made a course of very nearly 
a mile. 

At the word “go” Linn and Deerfoot were off, watched 
by every eye. On and on they sped, now one in the lead, 
now the other. When they rounded the last corner Linn 
was several yards ahead, and now the excitement was in- 
tense. 

But Deerfoot was holding his best effort in reserve, 
and at the last minute he made a spurt that brought him 
abreast of his competitor. Linn strained every nerve, 
but in vain. Amid silence from the students, and loud 
applause from his own friends, the young Indian shot by 
the goal, a winner by a good three feet. 

“Fairly won, Deerfoot,” exclaimed Linn, holding out 
a hand to his rival. “It was not to be expected that I 
could beat a chap like you, fresh from the plains. You 
deserve your name.” 

“You run well,” replied the Indian, taking the prof- 
fered hand, and smiling faintly with pride. “Some other 
time you beat, mebbe.” 

A little later, when the runners had recovered breath, 
Bruce came forward. He was an adept at wrestling, and 
had mastered many of its skilled points. Heretofore none 
had thrown him, and he confidently hoped to retrieve 
Linn’s defeat by downing the Indian. 

“It’s my turn now, Deerfoot,” he exclaimed, “if you’re 
rested enough.” 

“Me ready,” replied the Indian, stalking forward into 
the space that the students had already cleared. 

“Look here, Bruce, I wouldn’t go on with this,” Linn 
whispered to his friend. “It’s not too late to get out of 
it. He’ll throw you as sure as fate.” - 

“Let him alone, Linn Hilliard,” sneered Steve Halsey, 
who had overheard in part. 


Sowing the Seeds. n 

A clamor rose from the students, and Linn reluctantly 
withdrew. 

"It’s all right, old fellow,” Bruce called after him. 
“Just watch me win.” 

A moment later the two had grappled, and amid breath- 
less silence the match went on. From the first it was a 
close struggle. To and fro they swayed and slid, bend- 
ing this way and that. Each displayed cunning and skill, 
and after three or four minutes the end was not in sight. 

But suddenly Deer foot made a rapid and almost im- 
perceptible movement of one knee, and that quickly 
stretched his opponent flat on his back. The loud ap- 
plause of the Indians and jeering laughter from some of 
Steve Halsey's boon companions, stung Bruce's fiery tem- 
per to madness. 

“A foul ! a foul !” he cried, scrambling to his feet. “I 
wasn’t thrown fair, and you know it, you tricky redskin.” 

“White boy lie,” declared Deerfoot, his eyes flashing 
dangerously. 

“Do I?” snarled Bruce. “Take that, you copper-faced 
cheat ” 

But before Bruce could deliver the blow, already aimed 
with full force, Linn sprang forward and pinned his 
arms fast. 

“For shame !” he whispered. 

At the same instant half a dozen of the Indian lads sur- 
rounded Deerfoot and attempted to carry him away. 

“Let me go,” cried Bruce, struggling hard. “Let me 
get at him. He threw me foul, and called me a liar.” 

“Calm yourself, old fellow,” replied Linn. “Don't 
give way to passion like this. You’re in the wrong, too. 
It was a fair throw, and a mighty clever one. You owe 
Deerfoot an apology, and you'll tell him so, won't you?” 

“No, I won't,” muttered Bruce. “I didn't expect this 
of you, Linn.” 


12 


Sowing the Seeds. 

“Make the meddler let go, Bruce/’ shouted Steve Hah 
sey. “It’s none of his business.” 

Linn faced around angrily, still keeping hold of his 
friend, and there seemed a fair prospect of a general 
row. But the wiser students interfered, and after a little 
more excitement the affair was settled by an almost 
unanimous verdict in favor of the Indian. 

Deerfoot threw a grateful and friendly glance at Linn 
as he was led away by his companions. Bruce sullenly 
left the field with Steve Halsey’s crowd, and Linn fol- 
lowed with the others, thinking sadly of the quarrel with 
his best friend, and yet satisfied that he had done no 
more than was right. 

Thus were sown, on that October afternoon, the seeds 
of a strange and plentiful crop — a crop of heartaches and 
sorrows, disgrace and dishonor, friendships and enmities, 
adventures and 'sufferings. And it all sprang from a 
thoughtless word, and a fearless defense of justice and 
honor. 


CHAPTER II. 

linn's ERRAND TO THE INDIAN SCHOOL. 

The unfortunate quarrel between Linn and Bruce was 
not healed up, so far as putting the lads on their former 
intimate terms was concerned. Bruce made a feeble 
effort at reconciliation, admitting himself to have been in 
the wrong, and Linn was only too glad to meet him half 
way. But things were never the same after that, and a 
wider estrangement — which Linn did his best to prevent 
— grew between the two friends. 

Steve Halsey, who had always disliked Linn and rec- 
ognized a kindred spirit in Bruce, was mainly to blame 
for the coolness. He played his cards well and cun- 
ningly, and as a result Bruce was gradually drawn into 
the fast set of the college, and his old appetite for dissi- 
pation and bad habits got a strong hold on him again. 

Captain Cameron knew nothing of this, for he was a 
very busy man and had time to think of nothing else but 
the management of the Indian school. It was well known 
in the college, however, that Bruce was dropping lower 
in his class, and that he spent his evenings with Steve 
Halsey’s set, playing billiards and pool, drinking and 
gambling in one or another of his new companion’s 
rooms, or prowling about the town in search of mischief 
at late hours. 

Linn remonstrated with him from time to time, but 
his influence now was of no avail, and he almost lost hope 
of reclaiming his friend. He could rarely find a chance 
to talk to Bruce alone, for Steve Halsey stuck to him 


14 Linn’s Errand to the Indian School. 

like a shadow. His affection for his estranged chum was 
sincere, and he was more than once on the point of ap- 
pealing to Captain Cameron, whose ignorance he was 
aware of, and who, he knew, would speedily bring about 
a change for the better. But his sense of honor kept him 
from taking this step — a step which was sure to be mis- 
understood, and sure to bring him into unmerited dis- 
grace with his fellow students. 

Strangely enough, during the months that followed the 
football game, Deerfoot entered on friendly relations with 
both lads. Bruce was a good hater, and slow to forgive 
either a real or fancied grievance. It was rather remark- 
able, therefore, that he should of his own accord have 
apologized to the young Indian, and expressed a wish 
that the past should be forgotten. 

Possibly the fact that Bruce lived at the school, and 
could not have kept up the enmity without discovery, had 
a great deal to do with the matter. At all events, Deer- 
foot's truthful nature suspected neither this motive, nor a 
deeper one, and he readily consented to be reconciled. 

The friendship between the young Sioux and Linn had 
a firmer foundation, springing from the latter’s magnani- 
mous conduct when he was beaten in the race, and from 
his fearless championship of the Indian’s cause. They 
did not see each other very often, nor had they much to 
say when they did meet, but it was tacitly understood 
that they were firm friends. 

Sometimes they went tramping together of an after- 
noon, and when they were alone in the woods and fields 
Deerfoot would talk more freely, and tell of his wild and 
happy life in the West. Linn gathered from the conver- 
sation that the Indian was intensely dissatisfied, and 
longed for his former life. Linn could understand this 
feeling, and sympathize with it ; but nevertheless he tried 
to reconcile the young Sioux to his surroundings and to 


Linn’s Errand to the Indian School. 


15 


instill a desire to become a useful and civilized citizen of 
the United States. But he could not flatter himself that 
he succeeded. Deerfoot avoided the subject with evident 
aversion, and as the weeks passed on he grew more sad 
and melancholy. 

One afternoon in May, six months after the events on 
the athletic ground, Linn went from the college recitation 
room to his father’s bank. It was four o’clock, and the 
bank had been closed to the public for an hour. A couple 
of, clerks were bending over ledgers, and Mr. Hilliard sat 
at a desk in his private room. He held a letter in his 
hand, and a stack of bank-notes lay before him. He 
wheeled around in his chair as his son entered. 

“Father, I would like to have twenty-five dollars,” said 
Linn, abruptly. 

“Twenty-five dollars?” exclaimed the banker. “Non- 
sense! What can you want with such a sum of money, 
Linn?” 

Linn’s heart sank, and he did not reply. The truth 
of the matter was that a needy friend had begged him for 
the loan of that amount for a few days, and he had made 
a half promise to get it, though with little hope of suc- 
cess. 

“Are you in debt?” the banker went on. “I can’t be- 
lieve that you would dare to disobey me. You remember 
what I told you some time ago ” 

“I don’t owe a penny,” Linn interrupted. “It is not 
that. But I want the money very badly, father.” 

“Yes, to squander on foolishness,” said Mr. Hilliard. 
“I certainly don’t intend to give you twenty-five dollars. 
Money is the root of all evil, and in the hands of a lad 
of your age it becomes a most pernicious factor. You 
have no idea of its use.” 

“I never had a chance to learn,” Linn replied, a little 


16 Linn’s Errand to the Indian School. 

bitterly. “But this is not for foolishness, father. I want 
the money for a particular purpose, and if you insist- ” 

“You can’t have it,” Mr. Hilliard said, sternly, “and 
there is an end of the matter. Don’t sit down ; I am going 
to send you on an errand. The book-keepers have not 
finished, and can’t be spared from their desks. 

“Captain Cameron has been summoned by telegram to 
Washington on urgent business,” he added, glancing at 
the open letter. “He must leave by an early train in the 
morning, and as he may be ordered straight, to the West, 
he needs five hundred dollars. He incloses his check for 
the amount, and asks that I send him the money at once 
by a trusty messenger, as he is too busy to come for it 
himself.” 

Mr. Hilliard counted over the bank-notes, put them in 
a long envelope, sealed it, and gave the package to Linn. 

“Take this to Captain Cameron,” he said, “and have 
him examine it in your presence. Then come straight 
home to supper.” 

A moment later Linn was out in the street, and walk- 
ing rapidly toward the Indian school. He felt sore and 
hurt at his father’s refusal to give him the twenty-five 
dollars he had asked for, and he dreaded meeting the 
friend whom he desired to assist. 

“Father treats me like a baby,” he reflected, “but I sup- 
pose he means it all for the best. I won’t ask for the 
money again, and I don’t believe it would do any good 
if I did. I’m sorry for Tom Owner. He’s a good fel- 
low, and it was hard luck that he should break old 
Meadow’s plate-glass window. Still, he needn’t have 
played ball in the street.” 

Linn soon reached the Indian school, and rang the bell 
of Captain Cameron’s handsome house, which stood just 
inside the grounds, and in close proximity to the barracks. 
A servant led him to a room on the second floor, a cozy 


lyinn’s Errand to tlie Indian School. 


*7 


apartment containing easy-chairs, book-cases, and a heavy 
mahogany secretary. It adjoined the captain’s bed- 
chamber, and two windows, partly shaded by stout vines 
that had grown up from the ground, looked out on the 
side of the house. 

The captain made his appearance from the front room, 
where his wife had been helping him to pack his trunk. 

“Glad to see you, Linn,” he said, cordially. “I suppose 
your father sent you with the money. I was sorry to 
trouble him." 

“Here it is, sir," replied Linn, “and it was no trouble 
at all. Father says will you please count it." 

Captain Cameron took the' envelope, opened the secre- 
tary, and sat down. He counted the bank-notes with 
great care, and then thrust them loosely into a pigeon- 
hole. Linn stood beside him, glancing curiously around 
the room, and twice he saw Bruce go by the hall door 
and look quickly in. The second time he nodded at Linn, 
and then passed down the stairs. 

“The money is all right,” said the captain, as he rose to 
his feet, and closed and locked the secretary. “Tell your 
father that I am indebted to him for his promptness and 
kindness. But won’t you stay for supper? Bruce is 
about somewhere, and will be glad to see you.” 

“I’m afraid I must go right home,” replied Linn. 

“Well, come again. Good-afternoon.” 

“Good-afternoon, Captain Cameron,” said Linn. 

He looked for Bruce as he went downstairs and out of 
the house, hoping to get a few words with him. But that 
young gentleman was nowhere to be seen, and Linn went 
on home, little dreaming of what was to result from His 
errand to the barracks. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE DISCOVERY OF A PLOT. 

Mr. Hilliard’s residence was at some distance from the 
bank. The house was inclosed by shrubbery and a ter- 
raced lawn, and fronted on a quiet street that led from 
the college to the Indian school. 

Supper that night was a more dull and gloomy cere- 
mony than usual, for father and son had little to say to 
each other. Linn still resented the denial of his request, 
and the banker busied himself between courses with the 
evening paper. 

From the table Linn went to his own room, and studied 
hard for three or four hours. About ten o’clock — which 
was a late hour for Carlisle— he put up his books, took his 
hat, and left the house by a side door, locking it after 
him and slipping the key into his pocket. This was his 
frequent custom when he had wearied his brain over les- 
sons, and he always found that he could go to sleep 
quickly after a short stroll in the night air. 

He wandered down the quaint old street, the foot- 
ways of which were paved with flagstones and shaded by 
close rows of lofty elm trees. No one else was astir, and 
few lights were to be seen in the houses. When he had 
reached the outskirts of the town, and was midway be- 
tween the college and Indian school, Linn turned to re- 
trace his steps. 

Just then, happening to glance across the street, he 
saw two lads pass under the feeble light of a lamp-post, 
and stealthily vanish in the deep shadow of the trees. 


*9 


The Discovery of a Plot. 

The two were Bruce Cameron and Steve Halsey — as 
Linn discovered at once — and they were headed toward 
the Indian school. 

“What can they be up to?” Linn muttered. “Some 
mischief, I’ll bet anything. Just one scrape, if he is 
caught at it, will settle Bruce. I have half a mind to— — ” 

On the spur of the moment he struck diagonally across 
the street, and gained the opposite pavement, at a spot 
where the shadows were deep, barely in time to head the 
boys off. 

“Hallo, Bruce,” he whispered. “I thought that was 
you.” 

Steve dodged quickly toward a tree, evidently scared 
by the unexpected encounter, but Bruce held his ground. 

“What are you doing here, Linn Hilliard?” he de- 
manded, sullenly. 

“Just taking a little walk before going to bed,” Linn 
answered. “I want to talk to you a minute, if you don’t 
mind.” 

He made a gesture to Bruce, and the latter accompa- 
nied him a few yards down the street, leaving Steve 
standing alongside the tree. 

“I hope you won’t be angry,” Linn began, “for what I 
am going to say is for the sake of old friendship.” 

“I don’t know why you need say anything,” muttered 
Bruce. “I can take care of myself.” 

“You haven’t been doing it very well lately,” replied 
Linn, “if all that I hear is true. And you and Steve 
have surely got some mischief on hand for to-night.” 

“No, we haven’t,” declared Bruce. “What makes you 
think that? Steve is only walking part of the way home 
with me.” 

Linn was not convinced, for he knew by his uneasy 
manner and by the tone in v/hich he spoke that Bruce 
was telling an untruth. 


20 


The Discovery of a Plot. 


“I don't suppose my talking will do any good," he re- 
plied, sadly, "though it was different at one time. It is 
not my fault that we have become estranged, P>ruce. I 
feel just as friendly toward you as ever " 

"And so do I toward you," interrupted Bruce, in a 
petulant tone. "But a fellow has got to have some fun 
once in a while, and if you're not in for anything of that 
sort you can’t blame me for taking up with fellows that 
are." 

"Fun?" said Linn, scornfully. "It's mighty poor fun 
if you measure it by results. Can't you see what you are 
drifting to, Bruce? If you keep this up, you will drop 
into a lower class, or be expelled from college. And then 
good-by to West Point ! You know what your father will 
do if he finds that you have fallen into the old habits you 
learned cut West. You told me yourself that he would 
make you enlist in the army, and serve as a common sol- 
dier for three years." 

"There's no danger," said Bruce. "I’m not so very far 
down in the class, and I’m cramming hard now for the 
examinations. I’ll pull through all right. And as for 
bad habits — why, what little sport I have is nothing com- 
pared to what it was out in those Western towns. Wait 
till you've seen a little real life, Linn " 

"I don’t want to see that kind," exclaimed Linn. 
“There is danger, Bruce, and you are either willfully run- 
ning into it, or you are too blind to see it. You can’t con- 
tinue safely in these courses much longer. 

"For the sake of our old friendship, Bruce," he went 
on, earnestly, "drop Steve Halsey and his set, give up 
your rollicking and dissipation, and stick to your studies 
like a man. Let us be the chums that we once were. 
Graduation is only a year from now, and you will be well 
rewarded by a cadetship to West Point. Do listen to me, 
Bruce. I mean it fairly, and I can’t bear to see you going 


21 


The Discovery of a Plot. 

astray, dragged down by fellows like Steve Halsey and 
his crowd. Shake on it, old chap, do.” 

Bruce hesitated, but made no effort to accept the prof- 
fered hand. Before he could reply Steve approached half 
way from the tree, and gave an impatient whistle. 

“How much longer are you going to keep me waiting 
while you talk to that old stick?” he called, in a low 
tone. “If you don’t come right off I’m going home. I 
didn’t bargain for this when I promised to walk part 
way with you.” 

“I’m coming now, Steve,” Bruce replied. “Don’t be 
angry, Linn,” he added, in a whisper. “I’ll think over 
what you’ve said and let you know about it. Good- 
night.” 

With this Bruce hurried away, and he and Steve van- 
ished down the dark street. Linn stood still for a mo- 
ment, sorely grieved and perplexed in mind, and hesi- 
tating between two courses. 

“It seems a hopeless case,” he reflected. “My influence 
counts for nothing with Bruce. What shall I do, go home 
or follow them? They have some deep-laid plan on foot 
for to-night — I am confident of that more than ever now. 
But it seems like a mean and underhand trick to dog 
their steps. Still, it would be no more than a friendly 
act. If I can save Bruce from a scrape I’m going to do 
it, cost what it may. So there.” 

Having resolved on this step. Linn was quick and 
cunning to act. He slipped down a side street, and, on a 
steady trot, made a detour that finally brought him to 
the angle of the Indian school nearest the town. Here, 
in the shadow of a tree across the road, he crouched down 
to wait and watch. 

The school buildings and grounds were surrounded by 
a high board fence with spikes on top, and at night the 
main gate — which was some distance from where Linn 


22 


The Discovery of a Plot. 

lay hidden — was guarded by a watchman. The interior 
of the grounds was also patroled at intervals, and yet 
in spite of these precautions it was a frequent occurrence 
for one or more of the Indian pupils to make their escape, 
in the hope of ultimately returning to their far Western 
homes. 

Linn’s vigil did not last long. In a short time Bruce 
and Steve appeared, walking softly and warily. To the 
amazement of the concealed lad they went straight to the 
corner of the fence, swung aside a board that had been 
pried loose at the bottom, and vanished within the 
grounds. 

Linn hesitated briefly. Then he stole out from cover, 
easily found the sliding board, and crept cautiously 
through the gap. He threw himself flat on the inner side, 
and lifted his head to reconnoiter. 

This portion of the grounds was intersected by tar 
walks and dotted with thick clumps of shrubbery. Sev- 
eral hundred feet away was Captain Cameron’s residence, 
quite in darkness except for the library. The window of 
this apartment was raised, and against the lowered blind 
a black shadow — evidently that of the captain himself — 
could be seen flitting to and fro. 

Bruce and Steve had disappeared, and after waiting in 
vain for sight or sound of them, and puzzling himself to 
account for their strange actions, Linn decided to venture 
farther. 

On hands and knees he crawled warily forward, keep- 
ing entirely in the grass, and under the shelter of the 
overhanging bushes. In this fashion he silently advanced 
to within a hundred feet of the house. Then, suddenly 
hearing whispered voices, he crouched down on his 
stomach like a serpent. 

. The speakers were Bruce and Steve, and they seemed 


The Discovery of a Plot. 23 

to be lying under the spreading branches of a small pine 
tree about ten feet ahead. 

“Yes, it’s easily done,” Steve was saying, “and we’ll 
manage the rest all right. Things couldn’t have turned 
out better. You have the chisel?” 

“Yes, it’s in my pocket,” Bruce answered. “One twist 
will do it, and without much noise. Then the rest won’t 
be hard. All you need do is lie shady here, and keep out 
of the watchman’s way.” 

“And in the morning they will think he used the win- 
dow,” said Steve. “By that time he will be far away, 
and if he’s as sharp as I take him to be he won’t be 
found. It was lucky he confided in you, and got you to 
help him to escape.” 

“It will all work like a charm,” whispered Bruce. 
“We’re safe for dead sure if they don’t catch him, and 
even if they bring him back, and find that on him, he 
won’t betray us.” 

“That’s so,” assented Steve. “We’re fixed both ways. 
He’s the sort of an Indian that will die before he breaks 
a promise, and they’ll never make him tell where he got 
it. He’ll simply refuse to say anything, and that’s all 
we want.” 

Here the conversation dropped to a lower tone, and 
after some further whispering, the import of which the 
listener could not catch, the young conspirators were 
heard moving off to the left through the bushes. 

“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish,” thought Linn. “It’s all 
clear as daylight now. These foolish chaps, out of a 
mere spirit of adventure, are going to help one of the 
Indian pupils to escape. They intend to force open the 
door of the quarters and smuggle him out of the grounds. 
And I’ll bet Deerfoot is the one.” 

Linn’s conclusion, though there was some coloring to 
warrant it, was hasty and ill-formed, in view of all that 


24 Tlie Discovery of a Plot. 

the conspirators had said. But he was not in a frame of 
mind to dissect and inquire into the meaning of every 
sentence that lie had overheard, and he did not dream 
that the plot had a far deeper motive than the escape of 
the Indian lad. 

“Now, what am I going to do?” he said to himself, as 
he crouched low in the darkness. “Was ever a fellow in 
such a quandary? I can’t give the thing away or frus- 
trate the plot without getting Bruce and Steve into seri- 
ous trouble. I can’t honorably do that, of course. 

“And there’s Deerfoot ! I like the fellow, and pity 
hirn, and although it’s wrong for him to run away — and 
about as good as useless — I’m not going to be the one. to 
betray him, and get him punished. How could T ever 
face him again, after we’ve been such friends? 1 wish 1 
had let these fellows alone. I’ve made a bad break to- 
night. and the only way out of it is to slide home as 
quickly as possible, and keep dark about what I know.” 

This determination by no means solved the problem, but 
it was the only thing that Linn could see to do. His 
sense of honor, as exists to an almost visionary degree 
among schoolboys of the better .sort, told him that his 
hands were tied. And whether our young hero was right 
or not must be left to the reader to decide. 

So Linn turned about, and crawled slowly back as he 
had come. Arriving half way to the fence, he ventured 
to rise to his feet, and he had taken hut two steps when 
a strong hand fastened from behind on his collar. 


CHAPTER IV. 


startling news. 

“Hanged if it ain’t Linn Hilliard!'’ cried a gruff and 
familiar voice. “Bless me, I'd never have believed it.” 

Linn twisted around in his captor’s grasp, and recog- 
nized a watchman with whom he was on friendly terms. 

“Let me go, Sanders,” he whispered. “Do ; that’s a 
good fellow. I’m not up to any harm.” 

“I an’t sure of that,” replied Sanders. “No; I can’t let 
you go, Linn — it’s against orders. And yonder is the 
captain now.” 

Sure enough, the door of the house had suddenly 
opened, casting a flood of light onto the porch, and re- 
vealing the stalwart figure of Captain Cameron. His 
keen ears must have at once detected the watchman’s 
rather highly pitched voice. 

“Is that you, Sanders?” he called sharply. “What is 
the matter? Anything wrong?” 

“Coming, sir,” Sanders answered. “There is no help 
for it, my boy,” he added, in a whisper to Linn. “You 
have got to face the music.” 

Linn felt himself to be in a tight place, and he had no 
idea how he was going to get out of the scrape. But 
he stoutly resolved not to clear himself by betraying the 
conspirators, and with as much nerve and self-possession 
as he could summon, he suffered the watchman to lead 
him to the porch, and into the glare of light that shone 
from the hall. 


26 Startling News. 

With an exclamation of surprise, Captain Cameron 
glanced at the captive. 

“It is Linn Hilliard,” he said, not unkindly. “There is 
surely some mistake about this, Sanders. I daresay it 
can be readily explained. What are you doing in the 
grounds at this time of night, my boy? How did you 
get in?” 

“I can’t tell you, sir,” Linn answered. 

“You can’t tell me?” exclaimed the captain. “What do 
you mean ?” 

“I mean that I have reasons for refusing to answer 
your questions, Captain Cameron — good and honorable 
reasons. I beg you to believe that I came here for no 
wrongful purpose.” 

“Then you cannot persist in keeping silence,” said the 
captain. “Come, my boy, let me hear your story.” 

Linn shook his head and said nothing. 

“You are acting very unwisely,” said the captain. “If 
you came here with no wrongful intent yourself perhaps 
you are screening some one else. Is that so?” 

To this abrupt question Linn gave neither denial nor 
assent, and after waiting in silence for a moment a sud- 
den thought occurred to Captain Cameron, and he 
stepped inside the hall. 

“Bruce, Bruce,” he called loudly up the stairs. “Are 
you there?” 

The summons was twice repeated, and then a door was 
beard to open on the second floor, and Bruce’s drowsy 
voice answered : 

“I’m in bed, father. Do you want me?” 

“No, it’s all right,” replied the captain, in a tone of 
relief ; and as the door closed he stepped out to the porch 
again. 

He glanced sternly at Linn, and then turned to the 
watchman. 


Startling News. 27 

“Let me hear your story,” he demanded. “Where did 
you find the lad?” 

“When I first seen him, sir,” replied Sanders, “he was 
creeping along on his hands and knees half way between 
here and the east fence. Then he jumped up, intending 
to bolt for the fence, and that quickly I grabbed him.” 

“Do you know how he got into the grounds?” 

“I can’t tell you that, sir,” stated Sanders, “but I’m sure 
he didn’t come in by the gate. Martin is on guard there, 
and he hasn’t opened it since sundown.” 

“Then he no doubt scaled the fence,” suggested Cap- 
tain Cameron. “Make an examination in the morning, 
Sanders, and report to me if you find any of the spikes 
off.” 

Turning to Linn, the captain added: 

“I shall give you another chance to confess, my boy. 
This is a serious matter, remember, and may lead to very 
ugly consequences. Consider well before you answer.” 

“I have considered, sir,” said Linn, pleadingly. “I am 
very sorry, but 1 can’t tell you anything. I can only re- 
peat that I came here for no bad purpose.” 

“And this is your last word ?” 

“My last, sir,” Linn replied, firmly. 

Captain Cameron looked keenly and thoughtfully at 
the lad for a moment. 

“I regret this occurrence exceedingly,” he said, coldly, 
“and I feel it my duty to speak to your father. . I shall 
probably see him to-morrow morning, as I have post- 
poned my journey until an afternoon train. You may go 
home now. Sanders will see you outside of the grounds.” 

“And then shall I look round a bit more, sir?” asked 
the watchman, “in case any one else should be lurking 
about ” 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” interrupted the 


28 Startling News. 

captain, “but suppose you keep a closer watch than usual 
on the quarters — until you go off duty at three o'clock.” 

With this Captain Cameron entered die house and 
closed the door, while Linn was conducted to the gate in 
grim silence, and landed outside the grounds. 

The lad's pent-up feelings burst forth as he walked 
rapidly homeward through the cool night. He was angry 
at himself, at Captain Cameron, and most of all at Bruce 
and Steve. He also felt considerably worried. 

“A nice scrape I'm in!” he muttered half aloud. “This 
is what I get for trying to do those reckless fellows a 
good turn, and screening them from exposure. I've lost 
Captain Cameron's good opinion, and I don't see any 
chance of getting it back again. There will be a stormy 
time when he tells my father. I suppose I’ll have to face 
the music as I did this evening, and refuse to say any- 
thing. 

“I've accomplished one thing, though. Bruce and 
Steve won’t dream of carrying out their plot now, and 
they’ll likely abandon it altogether. When I was caught 
Bruce must have slipped into the house by a side door 
and gone to bed. And I'll bet anything Steve was hiding 
in the bushes close enough to hear all that was said on 
the porch. He may be there yet, but it’s most likely he 
slipped out of the grounds ahead of me and hurried 
back to the college. 

“I hope he did hear everything, and will tell Bruce. 
Anyway, Bruce will get the story from his father, and if 
there's any good left in him — and I’m sure there is — he 
will make up with me and drop Steve and his set. So. 
after all, my night’s adventure may turn out for the best.” 

The above reflections put Linn into a more easy frame 
of mind by the time he reached the town. He slipped into 
the house, mounted noiselessly to his own room, and was 


29 


Startling News. 

asleep almost as soon as his head pressed the pillow. And 
whatever dreams visited him in slumber, assuredly none 
forecast the terrible results of the night’s events — the 
tragedy that was to blacken his young life on the morrow. 

The next day was Saturday, and when Linn got awake 
his first thought was that he was free from studies and 
recitations. Then he remembered the experience of the 
night before, and he felt uncomfortable at the prospect 
of the promised interview between his father and Captain 
Cameron. 

He had slept two hours beyond his usual time, for 
the bronze clock on the mantel pointed to half-past nine. 
He dressed quickly and went down stairs. His father 
had gone to the bank, of course, and he did not enjoy 
hi:, breakfast any the less because it was eaten in solitude. 

At a few minutes past ten o’clock Linn left the house, 
and walked rapidly toward the bank. He supposed that 
Captain Cameron had called on his father by this time, 
and he was resolved to face the music at once, and thus 
end his worry and uncertainty in one way or another. 

The banker was seated at his desk, which was strewn 
with the morning’s opened letters, and when the lad en- 
tered he looked up with a grave and stern expression. 

“I knew it,” thought Linn. “Now for the storm.” 

But his father’s first words dispelled the conviction. 

“What is it, my son?” he said, hurriedly. “I am very 
busy this morning. I can’t be disturbed.” 

“Why, I thought — oh, nothing, particular, sir,” stam- 
mered Linn. “I just dropped in. I — I thought perhaps 
you might want me.” 

With a gesture of impatience, Mr. Hilliard turned to 
his correspondence ; then he changed his mind as quickly, 
and wheeled around in his chair. 

“I have a piece of news for you,” he said^ “but you 


30 Startling News. 

had better not let it go any farther at present. Captain 
Cameron’s wife was here in her carriage a few moments 
ago to draw some more money. The five hundred dol- 
lars I sent him last evening was stolen in the night.” 

“Stolen?” gasped Linn, his face turning all colors. 

He dropped limply into a chair. 

“Yes, stolen,” said the banker, regarding his son curi- 
ously. “Every dollar of it. The money was in an old- 
fashioned secretary, and the lid was forced open with a 
chisel from one of the Indian work-rooms.” 

“Who — who took it?” Linn asked, hoarsely. “Do they 
know?” 

“Your friend, Deerfoot, was the thief,” replied the 
banker. “He must have climbed up to the window by the 
vines. He was captured at an early hour this morning 
while trying to escape, but only twenty-five dollars was 
found on him. He denies the robbery, and insists that 
the money was given to him. No doubt the young ruffian 
has artfully concealed the balance of the notes.” 

“I’ll never believe that of Deerfoot,” exclaimed Linn, 
thrown off his guard by indignation and by his sudden 
realization of the infamous plot. “Never! There is 
surely some one else mixed up in the crime.” 

“Very likely,” assented the banker. “Indeed, Mrs. 
Cameron intimated that the Indian was suspected to have 
a confederate. I can’t understand her actions. She be- 
haved queerly, very queerly, as though she had some 
secret on her mind. The captain will not leave for Wash- 
ington until to-morrow, and he sent word that he would 
call on me this afternoon. That is enough now. I am 
too busy to answer any more questions. Oh, here is a 
letter that came for you this morning. Rather an illit- 
erate correspondent, I should judge.” 

He turned to his desk, after handing Linn an envelope 


Startling News. 31 

on which his name and address were inscribed in printed 
and illy spelled characters. 

With a careless glance the lad thrust the missive into 
his pocket and left the bank, his face flushed and excited. 
He went straight home, locked himself in his room, and 
sat down to consider the terrible and perplexing situa- 
tion in which he found himself. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE SEARCH EOR THE CULPRITS. 

It needed but brief consideration to make clear to Linn 
the meaning of all that he had overheard on the previous 
night. Each well remembered sentence stood out in a 
new and significant guise, and in the light of the morn- 
ing’s events the whole treacherous and criminal plot was 
revealed beyond a shadow of doubt. 

“Yes, I see it all,’’ exclaimed the heartsick lad, begin- 
ning to pace the floor. in his anger and excitement. “Steve 
Halsey is most to blame. Of his own accord Bruce could 
never have stooped to so mean and dastardly an act. And 
it happened just in this way. Deerfoot resolved to escape, 
and on account of the precautions that have beem taken 
lately, he found it necessary to confide in some one, and 
get assistance. He knew that it must be either Bruce 
or myself, for we have both been friendly with him of 
late. So he chose Bruce, because I have always tried to 
persuade him to be contented, and to put up with his lot. 

“No doubt he and Bruce had a talk over the matter 
some time yesterday, and in the afternoon Bruce saw his 
father lock the five hundred dollars in the secretary. 
Then he goes off and tells Steve, and the two of them, 
tempted by so large a sum of money, hatch out the plot 
to steal it ; and in such a way that Deerfoot will get the 
blame. They counted on the Indian escaping entirely, but 
they took good care to secure themselves in case he 
should be captured — which is just what has happened. 

“I can imagine how the plot was carried, out. I can 


33 


The Search for the Culprits, 

see it all as plainly as though I had been there. After I 
left the grounds last night Steve stayed there, hidden 
in the bushes. Then, when his father was sound asleep 
and all was quiet, Bruce noiselessly broke open the sec- 
retary with the chisel he had stolen from the work-rooms, 
took the money, and slipped out of the house to join 
Steve. No doubt Steve left the grounds, and hurried 
home with the four hundred and seventy-five dollars. By 
this time Deerfoot had likely escaped from the sleeping 
quarters, and he met Bruce by appointment in some lonely 
spot amid the shrubbery. Bruce gave him the twenty- 
five dollars, and made him. promise never to tell where 
he got it, or who helped him to escape. Then Bruce crept 
back to bed, and a little later Deerfoot was nabbed by 
Sanders while trying to get over the fence.” 

With a groan of despair, Linn dropped down on the 
bed and covered his face with his hands. 

“And now what am I going to do about it?” he went 
on, half aloud. “Steve has the stolen money hidden away, 
and lie and Bruce think themselves perfectly secure. And 
they have every reason to think so. I know Deerfoot well 
enough for that. Though part of the stolen money has 
been found on him, and the evidence all shows that he 
climbed up by the vines to Captain Cameron's room, his 
dogged Indian sense of honor and truth will prove his 
ruin. He has promised to be silent, and he won't say 
a word to clear himself, or to shift the crime on Bruce 
and Steve. A team of wild horses wouldn't be able to 
drag anything out of him. What am I going to do?” 

For some minutes Linn sat on the bed, pondering and 
puzzling over the situation. His mind was so full of pity 
and sympathy for Deerfoot, and of hot indignation 
against Bruce and Steve, that he quite overlooked a mat- 
ter of vital importance to himself. 

It never entered his head that strong circumstantial 


34 


The Search for the Culprits. 

evidence existed to connect him with the robbery — to put 
him under suspicion of being Deerfoot’s confederate. He 
did not stop to reflect on the cause of Mrs. Cameron’s 
strange actions in the banker’s office that morning, or to 
conjecture why Captain Cameron intended to call on his 
father in the afternoon. 

When the clock on the mantel pealed the hour of noon 
in silvery tones, Linn’s look of hesitation and perplexity 
suddenly vanished. He rose to his feet and put on his 
cap. 

“I don't know how this thing is going to end,” he said 
to himself, “and 1 can’t see much chance for those reck- 
less fellows to escape detection and punishment. But one 
thing is certain, Deerfoot sha’n’t suffer for a crime he 
never committed. I’m going to hunt up Bruce and Steve 
now, and tell them all I know. And what I do after that 
will depend on themselves. Either they must make a 
clean breast of it, or I will.” 

Linn was about to leave the room when he remembered 
the queer letter his father had handed him. He sat down 
again and opened the envelope. Inside was a bit of paper 
on which was drawn, with rude skill, a very odd-looking 
sketch. 

A mass of rocks with a black hole at the base seemed 
about to topple into a pool of water. Over the top of the 
rocks peeped an exaggerated sun, with rays flashing at 
all angles. At one corner of the chart “Deerfoot” was 
printed in scrawling letters. 

The paper contained no more than this, but its hidden 
meaning was apparent to Linn at almost the first glance. 

“Here’s a queer go!" he muttered. “Poor Deerfoot! 
he intended to make for Alexander’s cave after his escape 
and hide there until the pursuit had blown over. Accord- 
ing to this, he expected me to meet him there at sunrise 
— no, it must be sunset, and it means to-night. I sup- 


35 


The Search for the Culprits. 

pose he wanted to say good-by, knowing that I wouldn’t 
urge him to go back after he was once free. Or perhaps 
he wanted me to help him in some way! Well, it don’t 
matter one way or another now. The poor fellow is a 
tight prisoner, and won’t be likely to keep his engage- 
ment.” 

Linn carelessly stuffed the chart and envelope into his 
pocket, and left the house. He went straight toward the 
college, half expecting to find Bruce* and Steve in the 
latter’s room. 

The town wore its usual quiet and peaceful aspect, 
which was certain evidence that the robbery at the Indian 
school had not yet been made public. The college campus 
was filled with students lounging and chatting under the 
shade of the great trees, and at the street gate Linn met 
a lad who roomed next to Steve. 

“Hallo, Jack!” he said. “Seen anything of Halsey this 
morning? Is he in his room?” 

“No,” was the reply. “Cameron came for him two 
hours ago, and they went away together. Steve had his 
fishing-rod and a lunch basket. You’ll likely find them 
at the creek.” 

“Thanks,” said Linn, briefly, and without more words 
he circled around the corner of the campus, and soon 
found himself in the open country. 

“They’ve gone to the dam,” he reflected, as he took a 
short cut through fields and woods, “for Steve keeps a 
boat out there. But the fishing is all a bluff. They want 
a chance to talk things over in quiet, and as likely as not 
they’ve got the stolen money with them in the lunch 
basket. I’d like to see where they hide it — for that’s 
what they’re sure to do.” 

The dam referred to, which supplied the town with 
water, was on the Conodoguinet Creek, and lay rather 
more than a mile to the westward of Carlisle. And half 


36 The Search for the Culprits. 

a mile down the lonely and wooded reaches of the creek, 
in a great cliff that towered sheerly aloft from almost 
the water’s edge, was Alexander’s Cave ; where Deerfoot 
had hoped to hide for a time, and where he had sent word 
to his friend Linn to meet him. 

The cave was an ancient place, weird and uncanny of 
reputation, and seldom visited by even the most venture- 
some of people. It had a broad, high entrance, which 
continued inward for a hundred feet or more, and then 
terminated in a narrow hole at the top of a steep ledge 
of rocks. 

From here a multiplicity of passages, wound and en- 
tangled with one another, were said to lead in numerous 
directions, none having an exit to the outer air, and all 
terminating hopelessly in the bowels of the earth. 

There was a well-founded story to the effect that years 
ago, when Carlisle was an army post, a soldier and his 
dog had entered Alexander’s Cave to explore it. A week- 
later the dog turned up at the garrison, worn to a skele- 
ton, and with his hide scraped and torn by squirming 
through sharp stones. But the soldier was never found 
nor heard of again; nor could any one discover the exit 
bv which the animal had escaped from underground. 

Naturally, this story — which was fully credited — pre- 
vented any further or complete explorations of the cave. 
The college students frequently went in for a short dis- 
tance, and twice Linn and Deerfoot had penetrated to the 
first turn beyond the ledge. The young Sioux had known 
something of caves in the West, and he had more than 
once boasted his willingness to go through this one from 
end to end. 

It was early in the afternoon when Linn reached the 
water-works’ dam. An old man was fishing from a rock 
on the opposite side of the creek, but there was no sign of 
Bruce and Steve. That they had been here was certain, 


The Search for the Culprits. 37 

however. Steve’s boat, which he kept in an eddy a short 
distance below the overshoot, was missing. 

‘Til find them somewhere down stream,” Linn con- 
cluded, “and I hope it will be on this side. If they've 
landed on the other shore I’ll have to go a mile below to 
the bridge — unless I can run across a boat.” 

Slowly and warily the lad tramped down the bank 
of the creek, keeping under the trees and bushes, and 
watching on all sides and ahead. 

Nearly half a mile below the dam he came to where 
a tiny stream trickled through a densely wooded ravine 
into the creek. Just across the ravine towered a rocky 
hill, and here began the narrow path that led, between 
the water’s edge and the base of the cliff, to the mouth of 
Alexander’s Cave. It was a lonely spot, and one rarely 
visited. 

Linn paused, listened, and crept closer to the bank of 
the creek. He suddenly caught sight of the missing boat 
pulled far up into the shaded channel of the rivulet, and 
at the same instant he detected low voices near by. 

With a fast-beating heart he stepped across the stream 
and cautiously parted a fringe of bushes on the opposite 
bank. His search was ended at last. 

In a shady nook under the trees, with a flat stone be- 
tween them, sat Steve and P>ruce. 

They were smoking short pipes, and each held a hand- 
ful of cards. On the surface of the rock were more 
cards, a heap of silver coins, and two glasses of wine. 
From the open lunch basket, which stood near by, pro- 
truded a green bottle and a parcel of sandwiches. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A FALSE ACCUSATION. 

Linn hesitated but a moment. Having taken in the 
scene at a brief glance, he stepped suddenly out from the 
bushes, and confronted the unsuspecting boys. 

It was a stunning surprise, and they were thrown quite 
off their guard. Bruce turned pale and trembled; the 
cards fell from his limp fingers, and with the other hand 
he upset his glass of wine. Steve also turned pale under 
his ruddy skin, but he showed less agitation than his 
companion. He looked up with an angry scowl, and 
tossed a card down on the stone. 

“What are you doing here, Linn Hilliard?” he de- 
manded, in a sneering tone. “I never knew such a fel- 
low for turning up at odd times. It looks mightily much 
as though you were dogging us. 

“Go on, Bruce,” he added. “It’s your play.” 

He picked up his glass of wine and coolly drained the 
contents. 

“You made us jump, Linn, bolting out on us in that 
way,” said Bruce, beginning to gather up his cards with 
trembling fingers. “Of course we’re not doing anything 
wrong — just 'having a little fun on the quiet. Did you 
want to see me?” 

“Yes,” replied Linn, “I wanted to see both of you. I 
want that four hundred and seventy-five dollars.” 

The boys fairly gasped with fright, and guilt was 
quickly stamped on their haggard faces. 

“I — I dont understand, Linn,” said Bruce. “What 
money are you talking about?” 


A False Accusation. 


39 


‘‘The money that you and Steve stole from your father 
last night,” declared Linn. “You gave Deerfoot twenty- 
five dollars of it, and you have the rest with you now.” 

“You’re a fool, Linn Hilliard.” cried Steve, jumping 
up and clenching his fists. “Do you dare to call me a 
thief? Just say it again.” 

“I do say. it again,” replied Linn, standing fearlessly 
on his guard. “You’re a thief, Steve Halsey, and you 
know it. It was you who dragged Bruce into this.” 

Steve flushed with rage, and made a motion to strike. 
But he prudently changed his mind, and lowered his 
arms, with a mocking laugh. 

“What’s the use of fighting?” he muttered. “I’d hit 
you quick enough, Linn, but I can afford to overlook 
such crazy talk. You are surely out of your senses. The 
idea of calling us thieves ! Now, if it was the other 
way ” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Linn. 

“Oh, nothing in particular,” said Steve, darting a quick 
and meaning glance at Bruce. “But you seem to know a 
great deal about this robbery, considering that the news 
hasn’t reached the town yet.” 

“1 heard of it from n-y father,” said Linn, “and he 
got it from Mrs. Cameron. But long before that ” 

“Then you haven’t seen Captain Cameron yet?” inter- 
rupted Steve, in a peculiar tone, and with another glance 
at Bruce. 

“Not yet,” Linn answered, “but I intend to see him to- 
day.” 

He wondered vaguely and uneasily what this strange 
question could mean. 

“The captain is more anxious to see you than you are 
to see him,” Steve went on. “If I were you, Linn, I 
would skip out while I had the chance.” 

“1 don’t know what you are driving at,” Linn cried, 


40 


A False Accusation. 


angrily, “but you are on a wrong tack somewhere. Look 
iiere, do you fellows know that I was in the grounds of* 
the Indian school last night?” 

“Do we know it?” laughed Steve. “Well, I should say 
so ! And others know it, too. I never gave you credit 
for so much cheek ’’ 

“But do you know that I heard every word you and 
Bruce said when you were hidden in the bushes?” Linn 
interrupted ; “that I heard you laying your dastardly 
plans to steal the money and fasten the crime on Deer- 
foot? Now deny it, if you can. I screened you last 
night, to my own cost, but the truth has got to come out 
now.” 

It was only too evident that this was news to Bruce 
and Steve — that they had heretofore been under the im- 
pression that Linn had not overheard a word of their 
conversation. The guilty lads stood silent and trembling, 
looking furtively at each other. It was pitiful to see the 
terror and confusion stamped on their faces. 

Steve edged back, and leaned half defiantly against a 
tree. Bruce struggled hard to keep his self-control, and 
then broke down utterly, bursting into tears. 

“You won’t tell, Linn, will you?” he whimpered, im- 
ploringly. “Now, when it’s too late I see what a fool I’ve 
been. Help me out of this scrape. Linn, and I’ll never 
get into another one. If father finds out ” 

“Shut up, you cowardly cry-baby,” exclaimed Steve. 
“Don’t confess to a lie. You know we never stole that 
money.” 

“We did,” sobbed Bruce, “and I won’t shut up. I wish 
I’d never seen you, Steve Halsey, ft’s well enough for 
you to talk, with your father dead, and only a guardian 
to get in a row with. But look at me! My father will 
take me away from college, and make me enlist as a pri- 
vate in the army — he threatened to do it over and over 


A False Accusation. 


4i 

again, and this time there’s no escape. Why, I’d rather 
be dead than lead such a dog’s life.” 

"Do save me, Linn,” he went on, tearfully. “I’ll do 
anything you say — I'll never have anything more to do 
with Steve and his set. Only don’t let my father know 
of this. For the sake of old times, Linn, stand by me.” 

"And how about Deerfoot?” Linn cried, indignantly. 
"Is the poor fellow to suffer for a crime he never com- 
mitted, after you encouraged him to escape, and led him 
into the trap, and gave him part of the stolen money? 
Why, it was the meanest and most dastardly thing I ever 
heard of. And you know well that Deerfoot will be 
torn apart before he will clear himself by telling the 
truth ! 

"I’m afraid it’s too late for repentance, Bruce, I 
warned you over and over again, and now you must take 
the consequences of not listening to me. Steve is mostly 
to blame, but that don’t excuse you. I’m sorry for you. 
but I must do my duty all the same. Deerfoot is my 
friend, and he must be cleared at any cost.” 

"Of course, he must,” Bruce readily admitted. “I 
know that, Linn. Suppose I put the money back, and 
get Deerfoot’s innocence proved without giving myself 
away — will you keep mum then about what you know?” 

“I don’t see how such a thing is possible,” Linn an- 
swered, doubtfully. “You’re too deep in it for that, and 
it will take more than you think to clear Deerfoot en- 
tirely.” 

“I know it won’t be easy,” declared Bruce, “but I’ll 
find a way to do it. Just trust me for that, and give me 
until this .evening. The question is. will you promise?” 

Linn hesitated a moment. 

"I will give you until to-night.” he reluctantly an- 
swered. "If Deerfoot is proved innocent by that time I 
will keep your secret.” 


42 


A False Accusation. 


“Thank you, Linn, thank you,” Bruce cried, gratefully. 
‘Til never forget this. You'll see how differently I in- 
tend to behave in the future.” 

Meanwhile Steve had been leaning against the tree be- 
hind Linn, listening to the conversation with anger and 
scorn, and with an expression on his face that indicated 
deep and cunning thought. 

Now he stepped quickly forward, holding a thick en- 
velope partly concealed behind him. As he passed Linn, 
purposely jostling against him, he softly and skilfully 
slipped the envelope deep into the latter’s coat pocket. 
Then he advanced to Bruce, drew him a few feet to one 
side, and began to whisper inaudibly into his ear. 

Bruce changed color at the first words, and a look of 
horror and aversion came over his face ; he shook his 
head, and whispered something in reply. But a moment 
later, as Steve continued talking to him, he seemed to 
yield and assent, and a strange gleam shone in his eyes. 

“I wonder what’s up now?” thought Linn. “Steve is 
putting more deviltry into Bruce’s head, and he’s win- 
ning him over, too. I can’t let this go on. I’m sorry I 
made that promise.” . 

He was about to interfere when a sudden and startling 
thing happened. With scarcely a sound the bushes on 
the edge of the run parted, and into the little glade 
dropped Deerfoot, limping painfully, and gasping hard 
for breath. 

In spite of the partial school uniform that he wore — 
the blue trousers and flannel shirt — the young Indian 
pupil was transformed for the time being into a wild and 
untutored savage. His bosom heaved proudly, and his 
swarthy face was stamped with cruel hatred and defiance. 

He was terribly exhausted, and as the three lads clus- 
tered around him he sank limply down on the stone. 

“You help me hide,” he panted, seeing, as he supposed, 


A False Accusation. 


43 


that he was among friends. “Me jump from window — 
hurt foot when climb fence — no able run fast — they after 
me now.’’ 

Just then the crashing of bushes and the thud of hoofs 
was heard close by, and before Deerfoot could get to his 
feet Captain Cameron and two of the school -guards — 
all mounted on horses — cleared the run at a leap, and 
rode on a trot into the glade. 

The captain’s companions instantly dismounted and 
seized Deerfoot. The young Sioux struggled hard and 
desperately, but in his exhausted condition he was speed- 
ily overcome and held fast. 

“Well done, men,” said Captain Cameron, as he swung 
himself off his steed. “I don’t think he will give you any 
more trouble. You here, Bruce! How does this come? 

“And you, Linn,’’ he added, in a stern and grave tone. 
“I am spared the painful necessity of a visit to your 
father. You will accompany me back to the school. I 
wish to have a conversation with you — and on no pleas- 
ant subject.” 

Meanwhile Steve had taken advantage of the confusion 
to thrust cards, glasses, and wine bottle into the bushes. 
Now, hearing the captain’s words to Linn, he shot a 
meaning glance at Bruce and stepped forward. 

“You have the right party, Captain Cameron,” he said, 
loudly. ' “It was Linn Hilliard who stole the money last 
night. We made him own up to it just before you came.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 

Linn, dazed and alarmed as he was by Captain Cam- 
eron’s stern manner and significant words, could scarcely 
believe the evidence of his own senses when he heard 
himself thus basely denounced by Steve Halsey. His face 
flushed to a deep red — which might have been taken for 
a sign of either guilt or innocence — and with clenched 
fists he turned angrily upon his accuser. 

“How dare you ” he cried. Then he stopped short, 

realizing the consequences of giving way to passion, and 
by a. hard effort he kept his self-control. “No, I won’t 
strike you,” he added. “I won’t soil my hands by touch- 
ing you, Steve. You will suffer for this wicked lie, 
though. Captain Cameron knows better than to believe 
such a thing.” 

“I don’t wish to believe it,” the captain said, gravely, 
“but I fear the circumstances point that wav. Are you 
sure of this, Stephen? Is your friend telling the truth, 
Bruce?” 

“Of course I am,” exclaimed Steve. “Tell him so, 
Bruce. Speak up.” 

Bruce shivered slightly, and lifted a white and haggard 
face to meet his father’s keen gaze. 

“Yes, it’s true,” he said, in a faint and husky tone. 
“Linn owned up to it. He — he ” 

“Stop, Bruce,” Linn interrupted. “I can’t believe this 
of you, and after what has just happened. Don’t try to 
screen Steve any longer. He will only get you deeper 


A Victim of Circumstantial Evidence. 45 

into the scrape, for the truth is bound to come out. Be a 
man, and make a clean breast of it all. ” 

“Well, did I ever?’* exclaimed Steve, with a mocking 
laugh. “Of all the cheek ! You’re playing a clever 
game of bluff, Linn, but it won’t work. The idea of ac- 
cusing us of the crime! You stole the money, and I 
wouldn’t be afraid to bet that you have it about you now.” 

Linn turned to the captain. 

“Please search me, sir,” he said, proudly, “and then 
search Steve. I will take my turn first. I can explain 
everything, and I will do so when we are alone. For 
your own sake I would rather not speak now, in the pres- 
ence of so many witnesses.” 

At this Bruce blushed with shame, and for an instant 
there was a faint look of contrition on his face; but it 
quickly vanished when he caught a threatening glance 
from Steve. 

“You prefer not to speak for my sake ?” the captain de- 
manded, sternly. “I am ready to hear anything you wish 
to say, Linn. I don’t like to search you, but at your own 
request I will do so.” 

Amid a deep and impressive silence, Captain Cameron 
stepped forward. The two guards, Sanders and Marsh, 
moved a little closer, bringing Deerfoot with them. Steve 
looked on boldly, and with an evil smile, but Bruce kept 
his eyes on the ground. 

The captain began operations by plunging his hand 
reluctantly into the inner pocket of Linn’s coat, and he at 
once drew out Deerfoot’s letter. Pie took the paper from 
the envelope, and his knowledge of Indian sign-writing 
enabled him to interpret the missive almost at a glance. 
His face grew stern and angry. 

“More proof,” he muttered, half to himself. “So you 
had an appointment at the cave with Deerfoot this even- 
ing Linn ?” 


46 A Victim of Circumstantial Evidence. 

“The letter means that, sir,” Linn replied. 

“Then you admit it? And you were on the way to 
keep the appointment when I found you here?” 

“Not at all, sir. I came here for quite a different pur- 
pose. I wanted to see Bruce and Steve ” 

“Stop, my lad,” interrupted the captain. “Don’t add 
deceit to your wrong-doing. It were better to say noth- 
ing than to ” 

As he spoke, Captain Cameron thrust his hand into one 
of Linn’s side pockets, and with a sharp exclamation, he 
drew out a roll of bank-notes ! Linn glanced at them, too 
dazed for an instant to comprehend what it meant. Then 
the truth flashed upon him, and his eyes blazed with 
anger. 

“This is an infamous trick, Captain Cameron,” he 
cried. “1 did not know the money was there — I never 
saw it before. It was slipped into my pocket during the 
last few minutes.” 

“This is your doing, Steve Halsey!” he added, spring- 
ing forward and clutching him savagely by the throat. 
“You hid the money there when my back was turned. 
You shall suffer for this, you dastardly thief! Own up 
to it — own up, I tell you !” 

“Help! help!” Steve cried, hoarsely, as he struggled in 
the grasp of his assailant. “He’s choking me!” 

The captain quickly forced the lad’s apart, and stood 
between them. 

“Let us have no more of this, Linn !” he exclaimed. 
“I have been terribly deceived in you. Your guilt is be- 
yond question, and yet you have the effrontery to fasten 
the crime on others. How dare you deny it? Here is 
the stolen money, taken from your very person.” 

“I knew he had it,” whimpered Steve, feeling his in- 
jured throat. “He wanted us to keep quiet and not give 


A Victim of Circumstantial Evidence. 47 

him away. And because I told the truth he tries to drag 
me into the matter.’' 

'‘You don’t need any dragging, you thief!” retorted 
Linn. “You’ll be begging for mercy soon enough. 

“I swear I am innocent, Captain Cameron,” he added, 
earnestly. “This is a cunning plot, and circumstances 
are against me now. But I can clear myself.” 

By this time the captain had finished searching Linn, 
and without discovering any more money. 

“I would like to see you cleared, Linn,” he replied, “but 
I doubt if it can be done. In fact, I can’t believe in your 
innocence — the finding of this money is but a link in a 
long chain of evidence. I have but one hundred dollars 
here. Where is the balance ?” 

“I repeat that I am innocent,” cried Linn. “I know 
nothing of this money, except that it was slipped into my 
pocket. Steve can tell you where it is. Either he has 
hidden it, or it will be found on him.” 

“Search me, Captain Cameron,” demanded Steve, with 
an injured air. “And search Bruce, too. This lying fel- 
low is trying to implicate both of us.” 

He triumphantly turned all his pockets inside out, and 
Bruce reluctantly did the same, studiously avoiding 
Linn’s scornful glance. 

“The rest of the money is hidden some place,” asserted 
Linn, “and Steve knows where. If you still insist upon 
believing me guilty, Captain Cameron, I will tell you the 
whole story now. But I would rather you should hear it 
from Bruce. Steve’s evil influence is all that keeps him 
from speaking.” 

On hearing these words, and happening to meet Linn’s 
eye, Bruce looked repentant and ashamed. He under- 
stood that Linn pitied him, and still desired to screen him 
as much as possible. He might have broken down and 


48 A Victim of Circumstantial Evidence. 

confessed all had he not caught a timely and threatening 
glance from Steve. 

“Don’t stand there like a stick, Bruce,” cried his con- 
federate. “Because you and Linn are old friends, is no 
reason why you should let him lie about you.” 

“Of course not,” admitted Bruce, in a low tone, “but I 
am sorry for Linn. It is just as Steve says, father — Linn 
is trying to screen himself at my expense.” 

“There, you hear that, Linn,” cried Steve. “Now go 
ahead and tell your story — whatever it is. I’m anxious 
to see how big a lie you have concocted.” 

“It won’t be a lie,” replied Linn, who was more sur- 
prised than angered by Steve’s boldness and daring. 
“You know what is coming, Steve, and I don’t pity you. 
I’m sorry for Bruce, though, for you have led him into 
this. I will tell you the whole thing now, Captain Cam- 
eron, much as I dislike to do so. And the story will ex- 
plain why I was found in the school grounds last 
night — — ” 

“Wait, Linn,” sternly interrupted the captain. “I 
don’t wish to hear any untruths. I am satisfied that 
Stephen and my son can throw no light on this matter. 
But there is one here who can. 

“Deerfoot,” he added, turning to the young Indian, “it 
will be to your interest to make a full confession. Who 
helped you to steal the money last night ?” 

“Me no steal money,” was the sullen reply. “Money 
was give to me. Me know nothing of steal.” 

Deerfoot was resolved to hold fast to his sense of 
honor, and he evidently had no clear knowledge of the 
situation. He did not understand Linn’s unfortunate 
plight, but had a vague idea that his silence would benefit 
both Linn and Bruce. 

“Where did you get the twenty-five dollars?” the cap- 
tain resumed, sternly. 


A Victim of Circumstantial Evidence. 49 

“Money was give to me,” Deerfoot muttered. “Me no 
tell more.” 

“It is useless to question him,” said the captain. “I 
know his dogged obstinacy too well. But his confession 
is not needed to prove your guilt, Linn Alas! it is only 
too clear. You saw where I placed the five hundred dol- 
lars last night, and you and Deerfoot — whom you have 
been very intimate with of late — planned to steal it. You 
were watching the window when Sanders caught you, 
and you had the audacity to return a second time after 
being put out of the grounds. Which of you stole the 
money I don’t know, but between you the deed was done. 
Then you separated, Deerfoot retaining twenty-five dol- 
lars, and you taking the balance. But for Deerfoot’s cap- 
ture you might have escaped suspicion ” 

“Stop, Captain Cameron !” cried Linn. “Appearances 
are dead against me, but I am innocent. Wait till you 
hear my story. I followed Bruce and Steve to the school 
last night, suspecting that they were up to some mischief. 

I crept close up to them while they were hidden in the 
bushes near your window, and I heard them planning to 
steal the money and fasten the crime on Deerfoot. It . 
was all arranged for them to escape. And it was for 
Bruce’s sake that I refused to answer your question when 
I was caught. He dare not deny it ’’ 

“My son was in bed at the time you speak of,” inter- 
rupted the captain, with a burst of anger. “This story 
is a vile fabrication — a tissue of lies. Shame on you, 
Linn, to accuse an innocent lad. Bruce’s honesty is 
above reproach. You are the thief!” 

“I am innocent,” cried Linn, fairly losing heart at the 
terrible chain of evidence that had been woven around 
him. “I implore you to believe me, Captain Cameron. 
Deerfoot can clear us, and you know that he is truthful. 
He don’t understand the situation l am in, or he would 


50 A Victim ot Circumstantial Evidence. 

have spoken long ago. Explain it to him, or let me do 
it.” 

But Linn was not destined to receive a vindication 
from this quarter. As he concluded his impassioned ap- 
peal, Deerfoot seized an opportunity for which he had 
been watching and waiting for some time. By a vigor- 
ous jerk, he tore loose from his captors, dashed by Linn 
and the captain, and sped out of sight on the narrow 
path that led between the creek and the cliff to Alexan- 
der’s Cave. 

Sanders and Marsh started in hot pursuit, followed by 
Steve and Bruce. Captain Cameron brought up the rear, 
pulling Linn along with him by the arm. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


DISOWNED AND DISGRACED. 

Evidently Captain Cameron was determined that Linn 
should not escape, as his supposed confederate had just 
done. He kept a tight grip on the lad’s arm, and though 
they moved as rapidly as the narrowness of the path 
would admit — and at imminent risk of slipping into' the 
creek — they were far outdistanced by the rest of the 
party. The three horses, meanwhile, had been left stand- 
ing in the glade at the mouth of the run, quietly grazing- 
on the grass. 

A sharp turn of the path finally brought Linn and the 
captain to the yawning, black mouth of Alexander’s Cave. 
In the entrance stood Bruce, Steve, and the two guards, 
all very much heated and excited. 

“It’s no use, captain,” cried Sanders. “He’s given us 
the slip.” 

“Gone in the cave, do you mean?” demanded Captain 
Cameron. “That’s bad. I’m sorry you couldn’t over- 
take him in time.” 

“We did our level best, sir,” said Marsh, “but he ran 
like a deer, in spite of his sprained ankle.” 

“We followed him back to where the passage ends at 
the wall,” added Sanders, “and saw him shin up like a 
cat and wriggle through the crevice at the top. It was 
no use to follow without a light.” 

“No, that’s true,” admitted the captain, who seemed 
much vexed and angered. “This is a most provoking af- 
fair, and it must be entirely settled before I leave for 


52 


Disowned and Disgraced. 

Washington ; I can’t postpone the trip later than to-mor- 
row night. Leaving the theft out of the question, Deer- 
foot must be caught and made an example of before the 
other pupils. There have been too many escapes, or at- 
tempted escapes, recently, and I intend to put a stop to it 
once for all.” 

‘Tt won’t be easy to find him, father,” said Bruce. 
“The cave has about a thousand rooms and passages in it, 
and all sorts of queer nooks and holes.” 

“And the young rascal has no light,” added Sanders. 
“He’ll ,get himself hopelessly lost, and starve to death.” 

“I don’t think it is quite so bad as that,” replied Cap- 
tain Cameron, “but he has certainly done a foolish thing 
in taking refuge in the cave. If he counts on escaping in 
the end he will find himself mistaken. This is the only 
outlet.” 

“There is said to be another one,” asserted Bruce. 
“You remember about the dog ” 

“Nonsense!” interrupted his father. “That story was 
never corroborated, and is too doubtful for belief. 

“Prompt action is needed,” the captain went on, “and 
I see only one thing to do. Sanders, I will leave you and 
Marsh here to guard the mouth of the cavern. Keep a 
sharp watch, and do not stir from your post on any pre- 
text whatever. I will return as soon as possible with a 
search party and lanterns. And I will try to get old Toby 
Gunnison to act as guide. He knows more about the 
cave than any man living — though that’s not saying 
much. However, a thorough search of the passage will 
result in the capture of the fugitive.” 

“Father, may Steve and I stay here with the men?” 
asked Bruce. “Our boat is up at the mouth of the run. 
and we have some lunch in a basket.” 

“Yes. you may stay.” replied the captain, after a mo- 
ment’s thought. “This is the safest place for you. If I 


53 


Disowned and Disgraced. 

let you go you would probably publish the news to the 
whole ,town within half an hour, and I don’t want that to 
happen. 

“Now, Linn,” the captain added, sternly, “I have one 
question to ask you. A truthful answer can do you no 
harm, but will prove to your advantage. Where is the 
rest of the stolen money — the three hundred and seventy- 
five dollars?” 

“I know nothing of it, Captain Cameron,” Linn an- 
swered, hoarsely. “Is it possible that you persist in be- 
lieving me guilty? I am the victim of a most fiendish 
plot, and if Deerfoot were here, I am sure he could and 
would clear me. Nor have you heard all of my story. 
Let me tell it in full, and I am satisfied that I can convince 
you ” 

“No, not a word,” interrupted the captain. “You have 
been well schooled in lying and deceit, and I don’t wish 
to burden your soul with any more sins. Deerfoot is not 
here, and if he was, I doubt if he could clear you. I shall 
take you home with me now, and keep you there until 1 
have made arrangements for the cave to be searched. 
Then I will turn you over to your father, and he may 
deal with you as he sees fit. Come, I have no time to 
waste.” 

Knowing that further appeal would be useless, Linn 
quietly submitted to be taken by the arm, and led forward 
along the path. As he passed around the bend he looked 
back, and saw Steve watching him with a smile of wicked 
triumph. Bruce had turned his back, and was talking to 
Sanders. 

The horses were found where they had been left, and 
Captain Cameron tied one of them to a small tree. He 
mounted another, and helped Linn to climb into the sad- 
dle of the third. Then he took the lad’s bridle and his 


54 


Disowned and Disgraced. 

own, and they rode across the run and up the rugged 
hollow of the ravine. 

It was a sad and bitter ride for Linn. Twice he at- 
tempted to speak, in the hope of proving his innocence 
bv telling the whole story; but each time the captain 
sternly and angrily cut him short, saying that he wished 
to hear nothing. 

After that the lad rode on in gloomy silence. The fu- 
ture seemed black and almost hopeless, for he was aware 
what a terrible chain of circumstantial evidence had been 
woven around him, and he felt that his own story, unsup- 
ported by proof, might utterly fail to clear him. The 
thought of Steve's base conduct made him fairly tremble 
with rage, but he still felt some slight pity and affection 
for Bruce, knowing that he had been led astray by a 
stronger and more evil mind than his own. 

“I have two chances," he said to himself. "Bruce is 
not entirely bad, and he is already ashamed of what he 
has done. If I can talk to him apart from Steve he may 
confess everything and clear me. And Deerfoot will cer- 
tainly clear me if he is caught, and can be made to un- 
derstand the situation. As soon as he realizes the fix I 
am in, he will own up to getting the money from Bruce. 

"But suppose they don't find Deerfoot! He mav keep 
out of the way of the searchers, or possibly he may lose 
himself in some hole or passage, and never be found. 
Alexander’s Cave is a terrible place, and nobody knows 
all its ins and outs. Well, I hope something will turn up 
soon. If father is persuaded that I am guilty of this 
theft there will be no end to his passion." 

By this time the school was reached, and Captain Cam- 
eron and his companion rode in at the main gate, passing 
through groups of curious young Indians, who were 
eager for news of Deerfoot. As soon as he dismounted, 
Linn was turned over to a guard, and a little later he 


55 


Disowned and Disgraced. 

found himself locked up in the cellar under the sleeping 
quarters — in a small and gloomy cell, without windows, 
which was used for refractory pupils. 

It was still early in the afternoon, and for hours Linn 
was kept a prisoner. The greater part of the time he 
paced up and down the damp floor, alternately hopeful 
and despondent, as he reflected on the chances of proving 
his innocence or being proved guilty. 

It was quite dark when a guard opened the door and 
led Linn up the steps, and out into the grounds. He con- 
ducted him straight to the captain’s house, and into a 
room on the first floor which was used as a library and of- 
fice. Here, beside a table on which a lamp was burning 
brightly, the lad found his father and Captain Cameron 
sitting. 

“Linn, here is your father,” said the captain. “I sent 
for him in order to avoid as much publicity as possible. 
I hope his persuasions will have more effect on you than 
mine have had.” 

Mr. Hilliard rose to his feet, trembling slightly. His 
face was pale with anger, and there was a look of agony 
and grief in his sunken eyes. 

“I have heard all this terrible story,” he said, hoarsely. 
“The captain has informed me of your crime, and of your 
obstinate refusal to confess. He has told me of your 
dastardly conduct in trying to fasten the robbery on two 
of your companions. I cannot doubt your guilt. I re- 
fused you twenty-five dollars yesterday, and you turn 
around and steal five hundred. What have you to say 
for yourself?” 

“Father, have you ever known me to be dishonest?” 
cried Linn, struggling hard to keep his composure. “I 
swear I am innocent, sir — I implore you to believe me. I 
have never told you a lie, and I won’t do so now. Ap- 
pearances are terribly against me — I admit that — but 


56 Disowned and Disgraced. 

when you have heard the whole story you must believe me 
innocent.” 

As calmly as possible, the lad related the adventures of 
the previous night — how he had gone out for a walk, and 
met Steve and Bruce ; how he suspected them, and fol- 
lowed them into the grounds of the Indian School, and 
how he had overheard their conversation, and then been 
caught by Sanders. He ended by telling of the search 
for the lads that morning, and of what had happened 
after he found them along the creek. 

“That is all,” he concluded, earnestly, “but every word 
is true.” 

“Your son has told a clever string of falsehoods, Mr. 
Hilliard,” exclaimed the captain, “much as it grieves me 
to say so. He is still bent on shifting the robbery on oth- 
ers. Bruce was in bed at the time Linn was caught in 
the grounds, and I am satisfied that he had been there for 
at least an hour. And I have taken pains to ascertain 
that Stephen Halsey was in his room at the college all 
evening. Two of his fellow-students corroborate this 
statement of Stephen’s.” 

“It is all false!” cried Linn, losing heart and self-pos- 
session in the face of this added evidence. “Bruce could 
not have been in bed live minutes, and Steve is making 
his friends lie for him. I am innocent, father — oh, please 
believe me ! The truth is bound to come out. Wait un- 
til Deerfoot is brought back. He can clear me, and he 
will do it, too. He knows- ” 

Just then there came a startling interruption. Foot- 
steps were heard on the porch and in the hall, and San- 
ders strode into the room, flushed and excited. 

“It’s all up with the Indian, Captain Cameron,” he 
cried. “We followed his tracks into a new passage that 
old Toby Gunnison never knew of before, and the foot- 
prints ended at a big hole thirty feet deep. There’s run- 


57 


Disowned and Disgraced. 

ning water below, and Deerfoot must have tumbled down 
to his death. There ain’t the shadow of a chance for 
him.” 

Captain Cameron turned pale. 

‘'This is terrible news,” he said. “I am busy now, San- 
ders. Go outside, and I will join you presently.” 

As Sanders left the room, the captain turned to Linn. 

“You hear?” he questioned. "If this is true— and I 
fear it is — Deerfoot’s story of the crime will never be 
told. Confess, my boy. Fall on your knees, and beg 
your father’s forgiveness.” 

“That he shall never have !” cried the banker, bringing 
his fist down on the table in a spasm of rage. “Liar and 
thief. I disown you! You are no longer a son of mine. 
You are the first Hilliard to disgrace the name. I will 
pay back the five hundred dollars and save you from the 
penalty of the law. Here is the money that was found 
in your pocket. Take it. It is the last penny yon will 
get from me.” 

He strode over to Linn, and thrust the roll of bank- 
notes into the lad’s bosom. 

“Now go!” he thundered, in a voice that shook with 
passion. “I don’t care what becomes of you. Never let 
me see your face again — never dare to darken my door!” 

Without a word, Linn put on his hat and left the room. 
He passed out of the house, heedless of Captain Cam- 
eron’s summons to come back, and vanished in the dark- 


ness. 


CHAPTER IX, 


A MIDNIGHT VISITOR. 

With his brain in a whirl of passion, indignation and 
grief, Linn Hilliard strode instinctively across the Indian 
School grounds to the broken board in the fence. He 
found the place still unrepaired — and no doubt, undiscov- 
ered — and quickly crept through to the road. 

Amid the chaos of conflicting thoughts, two things 
were uppermost in the lad’s mind as he stumbled along 
in the darkness, drifting without aim or purpose toward 
the town. And these two things were the cruel and un- 
just treatment he had just received at the hands of his 
father, and the terrible fate of Deerfoot. 

He did not doubt that Deerfoot was dead/ and while he 
felt a great sorrow and pity for him he did not fail to 
realize the effect upon his own fortunes which the disas- 
ter to the young Indian was sure to have. There was no 
immediate prospect of his innocence being proved. 
Bruce alone could do that, and Linn had no hopes from 
that quarter. 

When he thought of the scene in Captain Cameron’s 
house hot tears came into the lad’s eyes. He could hard- 
ly comprehend the truth. It was difficult to believe that 
he had been disowned and cast out — driven away from 
home with bitter and angry words, and bidden never to 
darken his father’s door again. 

He felt a bulky object pressed between his coat and 
vest, and suddenly remembered the money. He drew it 
out, and was about to cast it passionately away when a 


A Midnight Visitor. 59 

strong impulse stayed his hand. He rolled the bank- 
notes into a wad, and put them safely in his pocket. 

“I had better swallow my pride,” he said to himself. 
‘‘This is the last money I’m likely to see for some time, 
and I think I will hold onto it, much as I hate to do so. 
Indeed, I can’t do without it. I don’t intend to stay in 
Carlisle, and I have no desire to turn tramp. I never had 
a hundred dollars before, and this ought to last me a long 
time.” 

Linn had more of his share of the family pride, and this 
prevented him from yielding to despair, as well as helping 
him to make a speedy decision as to his future plans. 
On reaching the outskirts of the town, he seated himself 
on the edge of the curb, in the deep shadow of a tree. A 
flood of emotion overwhelmed him, and he wept bitterly 
for several minutes. Then he half angrily dried his 
tears, and choked down a lump in his throat. 

“I won’t make such a baby of myself again,” he mut- 
tered. “I have a new life before me now, and I must 
face it like a man. The past is dead and over, and J 
won’t think of it more than I can help. Good-by to col- 
lege, and home, and friends. 

“Father is not himself when he is angry,” he went on, 
“and he was in a terrible passion to-night. I know he 
has always loved me in his own way, and does so yet. In 
a day or two he will be sorry, and will want me back. He 
will find that his repentance is too late, though. I forgive 
him freely enough, but I won’t return until he sends for 
me and admits that I am innocent. I’m afraid he won’t 
find that out for a long while, since Deerfoot is dead, and 
Bruce is under the influence of Steve Halsey. In time 
the truth will be discovered — either through Bruce or in 
some other way — but it may not be for years. 

“Well, I must wait patiently for that time to come. I 
know just what I shall do. From here I will go straight 


6o 


A Midnight Visitor. 

to the West. I have a good education, and I don’t think 
I will have any trouble in getting a position that will pay 
me enough to live on. After I am settled I will wait at 
least a year, then I will drop father a line to let him know 
where I am. I will give him to understand that I won't 
return until my innocence has been proved. 

“When I do come back there will be a day of reckon- 
ing for some one," the lad resumed, angrily, after a pause. 
“I may forgive Bruce, though I don’t feel much like it 
now. But Steve I will never forgive. He shall suffer 
for his dastardly conduct in fastening the robbery on 
me ” 

At this point Linn’s reflections were interrupted by a 
shrill and distant sound that echoed far on the night air. 

“There's the ten o’clock accommodation whistling for 
Middlesex," he exclaimed, springing to his feet. “Now 
for it ! I couldn’t have a better chance of slipping quiet- 
ly out of town, and the sooner it is over the better. If 
there are any Carlisle people on the train they will get off 
at the station, and it’s not likely any passengers from here 
will be going down the valley at this time of night." 

On a rapid walk, Linn pushed along the main street of 
the town, through which the railroad tracks run. Owing 
to the lateness of the hour he reached and passed the sta- 
tion without attracting attention, and halted a few yards 
beyond, in the shadow of a freight car. 

He was just in time. A moment later the train came 
rolling along, and the forward car stopped directly oppo- 
site Linn. He waited until the passengers were out, and 
then stepped aboard the train just as it began to move 
slowly forward. He entered the smoker, and a glance 
showed him that no familiar faces were there. Pulling 
his hat well down on his forehead, he dropped into ah 
empty seat in the rear end, and when the conductor came 
along he paid his fare out of a five-dollar bill. 


A Midnight Visitor. 61 

The hour's ride seemed very short to the lad, engrossed 
as he was in his gloomy thoughts of the future on which 
he was embarking. He was surprised when the train 
r imbled out on the long Susquehanna bridge, and thrust- 
ing his head from the window, he watched with interest 
the countless lights of Harrisburg flashing on the oppo- 
site shore and the great dome of the Capitol with its il- 
luminated clocks staring like fiery eyes. 

Gliding off the bridge the train plunged abruptly into 
the lower end of the city, and soon stopped under the im- 
mense vault of the Union Station. With a feeling of 
loneliness and depression, Linn followed the swarm of 
passengers up through the gates, fearful of being recog- 
nized and hailed at any instant, for he was known to a 
number of persons in Harrisburg. 

The bulletin board in the waiting-room informed him 
that a fast train left for the West shortly after midnight, 
and he at first decided to take it. But on second thoughts 
he concluded to wait until morning. He was tired and 
hungry, and did not care to trust himself to the doubtful 
comforts of a sleeping-car berth. Also, he preferred a 
daylight ride, because the country he was to pass through 
was new to him. 

“I will get something to eat first,” he reflected, “and 
then I will go to a hotel and enjoy a good and easy night’s 
rest.” 

Passing out of the station, Linn found himself on Mar- 
ket street, and it put him in better spirits to see the blaze 
of electric lights and shops, and the noisy tide of people, 
cabs and motor cars. Though after eleven o’clock, this 
main part of the city was full of life and bustle. 

The Cafe Russ was close by, and here Linn enjoyed a 
hearty and leisurely meal. It was past midnight when 
he came out, and now there were so few people in sight 
that he had little fear of recognition. He went two 


62 


A Midnight Visitor. 

blocks up the street to the Keystone Hotel, and registered 
under a false name. Since he had no baggage, he was 
politely requested to pay in advance, and having done this 
he was shown to a room on the fourth floor. 

It was a small but comfortable apartment, neatly fur- 
nished, and with a coil of rope — for use in case of fire — 
suspended on a hook by the window. In spite of the 
thrilling and wearisome events of the day, Linn was in no 
mood for sleep. He closed the door without locking it, 
and turned the gas higher. 

On the bureau he found a copy of the New York 
Weekly, evidently left there by some recent guest. He 
picked this up, and sitting down in a chair his thoughts 
were soon deep in a most interesting story. 

He had been reading for half an hour when he heard 
rapid footsteps coming along the corridor. They came 
straight to the room, and as the door was thrown wide 
open Linn glanced up in surprise and alarm. 


CHAPTER X. 


LINN SAVES HIS NEW FRIEND. 

Linn’s unexpected and uninvited visitor was a tall and 
straight young man, with brown eyes and closely-cut hair 
of the same color, a ruddy and bronzed complexion, and 
a slight mustache. He was apparently about twenty-two 
or twenty-three years old, and wore a suit of gray tweed 
and a derby hat. 

He paused a few feet within the door, and as he 
glanced around the room a look of surprise and annoy- 
ance crossed his face, giving away quickly to a pleasant 
smile and a blush of confusion. 

“By Jove, what a stupid I am!” he exclaimed. “I’m 
sure I beg your pardon — I’ve mistaken your room for 
mine. What floor is this, if you please?” 

“The fourth,” Linn answered. 

He felt greatly relieved to know that the intruder had 
not come to take him back to Carlisle, and, moreover, 
he was favorably impressed by this tall and handsome 
young gentleman. 

“The fourth floor?” said the stranger, with a merry 
laugh. “That accounts for it, then. My room occupies 
the same position on the floor below, and I left the gas 
burning when I went out. You see I came one story 
too high on the elevator. I hope you’ll pardon me for 
intruding ” 

“Of course I will,” said Linn. “It was a natural mis- 
take, and any person might have done the same thing.” 

“You are very kind,” replied the stranger. “Mistakes 


64 Linn Saves His New Friend. 

of this sort are awkward sometimes. You remember 
Mr. Pickwick’s adventure, don’t you? I’m glad you’re 
not an old lady with curl papers.” 

“So am I,” assented Linn, with a laugh. 

The other laughed, too, and for a moment he stood 
looking at Linn in a friendly manner. 

“I must be oft*,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve interrupted 
your reading. I see you have a copy of the New York 
Weekly there. Have you read the Nick Carter story?” 

“I just finished that one,” replied Linn. “It’s splen- 
did.” 

“So it is. I read them every week. And what do you 
think of Nick Carter and his methods? Do you believe 
they are practicable and possible for a real detective?” 

“I haven’t thought much about it,” said Linn. “But 
if I were Nick Carter, and you had come to consult me, 
I think I should say that you were a soldier.” 

“What makes you think so?” asked the visitor, with 
a smile. 

“Your stiff and straight walk,” Linn answered, “and 
the way you carry yourself. But, of course, 1 would be 
wrong, for you have no uniform ” 

“Soldiers don’t wear their uniforms all the time,” in- 
terrupted the stranger. “In fact, I am a soldier — Lieu- 
tenant Percy Dimsdale, at your service. I have been out 
of West Point for two years, and am on my wav home 
to Maryland for a short furlough. I stopped off in Har- 
risburg to see a friend.” 

Linn looked with admiration and envy at the young 
officer, and he suddenly became aware that his old tong- 
ing for a soldier’s life was still strong and keen within 
him. He shrank with horror and distaste from the career 
which he had so lately planned for himself — the drudgery 
and toil of a clerk in some Western town. 

“I am very glad to have made your acquaintance, Lieu- 


Linn Saves His New Friend. 65 

tenant Dimsdale,” he said. “I have always wanted to be 
a soldier myself. What are the chances nowadays for 
a young fellow to enlist and work his way upward from 
the ranks ?” 

“The chances for that are never very bright,” was the 
reply, “but in these times, when there is so much trouble 
out on the frontier, a young recruit with the right stuff 
in him has a fair show to climb the ladder of promotion.” 

“And in time, if he was well educated, he would stand 
on the same level with a West Point graduate?” asked 
Linn. “I mean, could he get to be lieutenant, and would 
he have equal chances for the future?” 

“Yes, I think he would. It depends a great deal on 
bravery and obedience, and on taking advantage of what 
opportunities turn up. We’re talking now about a well- 
educated private. It would be different, you understand, 
with an ignorant man, no matter what else he was. And 
then, being on active service has everything to do with 
it. A young recruit, even if he had all the qualities in 
him to make a great general, would stand no show at all 
if he was tied down in some Eastern army post.” 

Lieutenant Dimsdale was an enthusiast in his profes- 
sion, and, seeing that he had an interested listener, he 
talked rapidly and for some time of a soldier’s life, paint- 
ing it in bright and glowing colors, and never dreaming 
that Linn was taking his words to heart and storing them 
away for future encouragement. 

“I don’t know that I would advise a friend of mine 
to enlist,” he concluded, “because it would be taking too 
great a responsibility on myself. But if I had failed to 
enter West Point I would surely have started in the ranks. 
As I said before, now is the time for a brave, steady, and 
educated recruit to win his way up — provided he can get 
on the frontier. Just at present things are quiet, but it 
won’t be long until the Indians are kicking up a row 


66 


Linn Saves His New Friend. 


again. And there are plenty of officers of high rank out 
West who started at the bottom and never saw the inside 
of West Point. 

“But you haven’t told me your name yet,” he added. 
“We met in a queer way to-night, and we’ve had quite a 
pleasant talk. I hope we may run across each other in 
the future.” 

Linn hesitated briefly, not knowing what to say. Then, 
on the spur of the moment, he answered : 

“My name is Osborne — Linn Osborne,” giving the 
name by which he had registered. “I am on my way 
West, and if you are quartered out there we may meet 
again.” 

“I am quartered out there,” replied the young officer, 
rising to his feet, “and I expect to be on my way back 
to the frontier in a month. But the West is a big place,, 
and Hello! what’s that?” 

A cry of fire — that most terrible of cries in the night — 
rang faintly from far below, and was followed by a con- 
fused babel of voices and slamming of doors. A moment 
later the street was alive with shouting and hurrying feet, 
and then a bell began to clang loudly and furiously. 

“The hotel is on fire,” exclaimed Linn. 

“I hope not,” cried Lieutenant Dimsdale, “but it sounds 
that way. And we are up on the top floor !” 

They rushed from the room together, and as soon as 
they reached the corridor they knew the worst. At the 
further end were the staircase and the elevator shaft, 
situated close together, and from this quarter heavy vol- 
umes of black smoke were rolling forward. 

“Come on !” cried Linn. “Make for the stairs, for the 
elevator won’t be running. There may be time yet to 
escape.” 

As they fled along the corridor a man burst out of a 
room on the left, shouting at he top of his voice. He 


Linn Saves His New Friend. 67 

collided with Linn, and the latter went sprawling to the 
floor. Lieutenant Dimsdale tripped over him, and in fall- 
ing he struck his head on the sharp edge of a trunk that 
stood close by. 

The man who was the cause of the accident rushed on 
without stopping and vanished in the smoke. Linn 
jumped to his feet and bent over his companion, calling 
him by name. There was no reply. The young officer 
lay still and quiet, the blood trickling from an ugly gash 
on his forehead. But his heart was beating all right, as 
Linn quickly discovered. 

In this terrible situation the lad did not lose his pres- 
ence of mind. He believed there was a chance of saving 
himself, but he was resolved not to abandon his helpless 
and unconscious friend. He darted forward to see what 
the prospect was, but the stifling smoke brought him to a 
stand-still at a distance of a dozen feet from the stairway. 

Both here and out of the elevator shaft dense volumes 
of smoke were rolling up, and a red glare danced and 
flickered on the ceiling overhead. The roar of the flames 
mingled with the shouting and commotion on the lower 
floors. Evidently the fire had started on the first floor, 
and had immediately been sucked upward toward the 
roof. 

“It’s too late to escape by the stairs,” muttered Linn. 
“There’s only one chance left, and that’s by the fire- 
escape. The rope has got to save us both, for I won’t 
leave that poor fellow here to perish. I hope he is not 
too heavy for me to handle.” 

Gasping for breath, and with smarting eyes, he hurried 
back to Lieutenant Dimsdale. The young officer lay 
where he had fallen, still unconscious. Linn mopped the 
blood from his forehead as well as he could, took him 
around the waist, and started to drag him to the room 
they had left. He had to perform the task unaided, for 


68 Linn Saves His New Friend. 

the only other guest on the fourth floor was the man who 
had rushed down the stairs a moment before, and it was 
doubtful if he had passed safely through the smoke and 
flame. 

Linn’s strength stood him in good stead, and he finally 
reached the room with his helpless burden. Dropping 
the young officer across the bed, he threw up the window 
and looked out. The street was crowded with shouting 
people, and two fire-engines had already arrived. The 
conflagration was confined to the further end of the hotel, 
and most of the inmates seemed to have escaped. The 
front of the building was unprovided with the modern 
iron fire-escapes, and here and there a solitary figure was 
slipping down a rope to the ground. 

Directly beneath Linn the firemen had raised a ladder 
to the second floor, and a few persons were escaping by 
this means. The lad quickly took the coil of rope from 
the hook, saw that the noose was all right, and then turned 
to the bed. 

Lieutenant Dimsdale had come to his senses, and was 
trying feebly to rise. 

“Where am I?” he muttered. “How did I get hurt? 
Oh, I remember no\v — the hotel is on fire, and I fell 
against that trunk. Don’t risk your life for me — save 
yourself ” 

“I’m going to save you first,” exclaimed Linn. “It’s 
all right — we’re not in any danger. Stand up till I get 
the rope around you, and then trv to climb over the win- 
dow sill.” 

Dizzy and weak as he was, the young officer got to his 
feet, and with Linn’s assistance the rope was slipped 
under his shoulders, and he was lowered from the win- 
dow, holding fast to the rope with both hands. The 
crowd saw the incident from below, and cheered loudly 
and eagerly. 


Linn Saves His New Friend. 


69 


It was hard work for Linn, and he gritted his teeth 
as he paid the line out, foot by foot. At last the strain 
slackened, and he looked down to see the firemen on the 
ladder disengage the noose from Lieutenant Dimsdale 
and bear him to the ground. 

It was now his own turn, and he did not hesitate to 
make the dizzy venture. The smoke was curling into the 
room as he climbed over the window-sill, and took a firm 
grip on the rope. Down he went, hand over hand, and 
a minute later he stood safely on the pavement, none the 
worse for his experience, except for his smarting palms. 

Lieutenant Dimsdale had already been removed to the 
office of a neighboring physician, and after learning that 
none of the guests of the hotel were missing, Linn crossed 
to the opposite side of the street. There he stood for an 
hour, and by the end of that time the fire was under 
control, though the interior of the building was said to 
be completely gutted. 

Fearing that some one in the crowd would recognize 
him, Linn now slipped away, and went to another hotel 
nearer the station. Here he enjoyed a few hours’ sleep, 
and after an early breakfast, he hurried off to catch the 
through train to the West. He was anxious to see Lieu- 
tenant Dimsdale again, but he concluded that it would 
not be prudent to do so. 


CHAPTER XI. 


OFF TO THE FRONTIER. 

Linn reached the station just as the train was called, 
and, hurriedly buying his ticket and a paper, he passed 
through the gates and took his seat in a car that was 
not uncomfortably full. A moment later he was off, and 
he looked out of the window until the train had crossed 
the Susquehanna by the long bridge at Rockville, and was 
flying westward through the Kittatinny Gap. 

Then he remembered the paper. It was an early morn- 
ing edition, and a whole column on the front page was 
devoted to the fire. His assumed name figured promi- 
nently, and with burning cheeks he read the interview 
between the reporter and Lieutenant Dimsdale, in which 
the latter told how he had been bravely rescued by a 
young gentleman named Osborne. 

“The young officer’s injury is a slight one,” the article 
went on to say, “and he is resting comfortably as we go 
to press. He expressed a strong desire to find Mr. Os- 
borne, who so gallantly snatched him from the clutches of 
the flames, and who disappeared mysteriously after the 
fire.” 

“What a lot of fuss about nothing!” said Linn to him- 
self, as he laid the paper aside. “I don’t think Lieuten- 
ant Dimsdale will find me. I am sorry I had to leave 
him so abruptly, though. He is a fine fellow, and he did 
me a good service last night — a greater one, perhaps, than 
I did for him. The future looks pretty bright now, and 


Off to the Frontier. 


7 1 


I'm not going to think of the bitter past any more than 
I can help. It’s queer how the old passion for a soldier’s 
life wakened up when I met that young officer. I thought 
it was dead years ago, but it was there all the time.” 

Could Lieutenant Dimsdale have known what was pass- 
ing in the supposed Mr. Osborne’s mind he would prob- 
ably have been made very uncomfortable, and he would 
certainly have regretted his conversation of the previous 
night. He had spoken sincerely, it is true, but without 
the slightest idea that his listener would take the advice 
to himself. Therefore he had painted a new recruit’s 
career in glowing colors — as was his duty as an officer 
of the United States Army — but purposely omitting the 
darker and doubtful side of the story. As a personal 
friend, he would have told Linn not to enlist with any 
assurance of winning his way upward from the ranks, and 
would likely have given him some wholesome and. un- 
palatable advice in addition. 

But Linn did not know this. He accepted the young 
officer’s statements in perfect trust, drinking them in 
eagerly and taking from them much guidance and en- 
couragement for his own career. Indeed, he had re- 
solved to be a soldier even before that conversation was 
half over, and to this he still held fast. 

He thought calmly and confidently of the prospect as 
the fast express train whirled him on through the rugged 
mountains and pastoral scenery of Pennsylvania. He 
had only kindly feelings for his father, and he no longer 
felt the same bitterness toward Bruce or fierce hatred 
of Steve Halsey. At the end of three or five years, he 
told himself, he would go home on a visit with an officer’s 
uniform and sword — go home to find his innocence 
proved, and to enjoy a complete vindication and a thrilling 
triumph among his old friends. 


72 


Off to the Frontier. 


Of the trials, difficulties, and humble position of a pri- 
vate soldier Linn knew little, nor, had he been fully in- 
formed, would he have allowed himself to be daunted. 
He was strong, plucky, and well educated, and his mind 
was firmly set on carving out a military career, in spite 
of all and any obstacles that he might meet. 

There were a few knotty points at the outset, but Linn 
planned how to conquer these as he traveled westward 
that day. Some time before he had seen the recruiting 
circular issued by the office at Harrisburg, and he remem- 
bered pretty clearly what was required of an applicant for 
enlistment. 

The long ride came to an end at last, and late in the 
afternoon Linn left the train at Pittsburg. He knew 
there was a recruiting station here, and an inquiry at the 
depot gave him the information he wanted. Ten minutes 
later he reached the place. A colored lithograph repre- 
senting a group of officers and privates was posted up 
outside, and a uniformed sergeant was solemnly march- 
ing to and fro on the pavement before the door. 

This individual ushered the lad up stairs and into the 
presence of the recruiting officer. The latter was a man 
of about forty, with a pleasing expression and kindly 
eyes. 

Linn briefly and coolly explained his wish, concluding 
with a stipulation made in positive terms. 

“1 want to be sent straight to the frontier/’ he said, 
“where I will find opportunities of advancement. If I 
enlist it is with that understanding.” 

“Your request is rather unusual,” replied the officer, 
“but T think it can be arranged if you pass muster. How 
old are you ?” 

“Eighteen,” Linn answered, with a slight trace of hesi- 
tation, and an inward feeling of contrition and shame. 


Off to the Frontier. 


73 

The officer did not doubt this statement after glancing 
keenly at the applicant's sturdy build. 

“You are unmarried, of course?” he resumed. 

“Yes, sir,” was the smiling reply. 

“And what of your character and habits? I suppose 
you can produce a certificate ” 

“No, sir ; I can't do that," Linn said, quickly. “But 
1 assure you on my honor that I am all a gentleman 
should be. 1 have good reasons for wishing to enlist. I 
have always wanted to be a soldier, and as West Point 
is out of the question, I have chosen this course.” 

The officer hesitated a moment. It was doubtless his 
duty to insist upon a clearer statement, but he liked the 
lad’s looks and his straightforward speech ; and, more- 
over, the recruiting business had been very slack and dull 
of late. 

So the upshot of it was that Linn was excused from 
further questioning, and was taken to an inner room to 
be weighed and examined by two privates in the presence 
of the recruiting officer. He passed through the ordeal 
with flying colors, and after slipping on his clothes he 
took the oath of service. 

He was now a duly enlisted private in the regular army, 
sworn under the name of Linn Osborne to serve for five 
years at the monthly pay of thirteen dollars, and entitled 
to receive rations, clothes, bedding, and medical attend- 
ance from the Government. He also had the privilege of 
discharge at the end of three years, providing he had 
served faithfully and obediently during that time. 

Linn retained a few dollars of his money, and gave the 
rest to the recruiting officer, taking a receipt for it. He 
was provided with sleeping quarters in the building, and 
here he spent three days. Then, with five other recruits, 
he was sent off to Columbus Barracks, where he spent 


74 Off to the Frontier. 

eight weeks of daily toil and instruction under a drill- 
master. 

At the end of that period he was sent out with a batch 
of soldiers to Fort Sandiman, which was located on the 
Missouri River in South Dakota, close to the reservation 
of the Brule Sioux. 


CHAPTER XII. 


A CALL TO SERVICE EOR TROOP A. 

The sun had vanished behind the bluffs of the Mis- 
souri, and the soft September twilight was gathering over 
Fort Sandiman, with its groups of dusky buildings that 
housed a regiment of infantry and six troops of cavalry, 
and its surrounding picket fence cordoned by blue-coated 
sentries. 

The day’s routine of toil had ended, supper was over, 
and now had come the hours of leisure and recreation 
that would be cut short all too soon by the imperative 
sound of taps. Here and there strolled troopers and in- 
fantrymen, smoking and chatting; the parade-ground was 
dotted with ladies in evening dress, and their gayly- 
uniformed escorts; lights were appearing in the long, 
shed-like barracks of the men, in the cozier quarters of 
the officers, in the handsome residence of the colonel, and 
in the company offices. 

Dim figures flitted by the open windows of the hospital, 
and from the stables came the champing and clatter of 
horses. The telegraph operator was dozing in his den, 
his legs crossed over his table, and a newspaper held care- 
lessly in his hand. Close by on a bench outside the sut- 
ler’s store, sat half a dozen m&n belonging to Troop A. 

This was Private Osborne’s own troop, and Linn was 
with the group that evening, listening to the conversation 
and laughter in silence, and with a thoughtful and sober 
expression on his face. His home and college life in dis- 
tant Carlisle seemed far/ far away to the lad, though 


76 A Call to Service for Troop A. 

scarcely four months had elapsed since he went forth to 
banishment under the shadow of a crime, and enlisted 
on a soldier’s career. 

But his dreams of the future had not come true, nor 
did he see any chance of attaining the hopes on which he 
had set his heart. In the two months spent at Fort 
Sandiman he had shown himself to have the making of 
a good soldier; he had performed his duties faithfully, 
patiently, and even with a keen relish ; he had come under 
the approving eyes of colonel and majors, had won the 
liking and respect of his comrades, and had formed dose 
friendships with many of them. 

One unfortunate thing, however, barred his way to ad- 
vancement, and this fact was already known to the men 
of Troop A, and was frequently commented on. Cap- 
tain Norman, the commanding officer of the troop, had 
formed a strong dislike to the new recruit, and took little 
pains to conceal his feelings. 

Linn’s imprudence was partly to blame, for on first 
coming to the fort he had spoken rather freely, and with 
boyish thoughtlessness, of what he intended to do — how 
he was determined to rise from the ranks by zeal and 
attention, and in time to win himself an officer’s sword 
and uniform. 

He soon learned to become more close-mouthed, but not 
before the mischief was done. His words came to the 
ears of Captain Norman, and the latter regarded them as 
a mixture of impudence and presumption. The captain 
was a stern, cold, and haughty man, unpopular at West 
Point fifteen years before, and scarcely less so in his sub- 
sequent career on the frontier. It was a well-known pet 
theory of his that officers should never be elevated from 
the ranks above a certain grade, and that the higher posi- 
tions should invariably belong to graduates of the fa- 
mous military school on the Hudson. 


77 


A Call to Service for Troop A. 

It is more than likely that he formed a prejudice against 
Private Osborne because he recognized ifr him a contra- 
diction of his cherished belief — because he saw that the 
young recruit possessed the very qualities which would 
in time, and under favorable opportunities, lead to high 
promotion. 

Be the reason what it may, the captain did dislike the 
lad, and Linn was thoroughly aware of this. It added 
to his discouragement to know that even should he be 
transferred to another troop — which was far from proba- 
ble — there was no earlv prospect of winning promotion 
by showing what he could do on active service. 

Close bordering Fort Sandiman on the north was the 
reservation of the Brule Sioux, with their crafty chief, 
Gray Fox. Not many miles to the southwest lay the 
Ogallalla Sioux reservation, the home of the famous and 
terrible Flying Thunder. But these Indians — formerly 
the pest of settler and soldier — had been at peace for 
some time ; and that peace promised to be undisturbed, 
in spite of the usual and incessant rumors to the con- 
tra r)^. 

So Linn’s prospects were far from bright, and the shat- 
tering of his hopes gave him many an hour of wretched- 
ness and heartache. But courage and pluck kept him 
from utter despair, and in the past weeks he had held fast 
to his ideals, faithfully and zealously performing the 
duties of his new life — the monotony of which was occa- 
sionally broken by a visit to the neighboring town of 
Chamberlain, or to Red Rock Agency on the Brule reser- 
vation. 

He had written no word home to his father, nor did he 
intend to do so until the future had brightened, and he 
could feel satisfied that he had not made a mistake in 
choosing a military career. He was thinking of this and 
vowing never to return to Carlisle without an officer’s 


78 A Call to Service for Troop A. 

stripes, as he sat on the bench outside the sutler’s store 
in the deepening gloom of the September evening. Pres- 
ently the mention of a familiar name roused him from 
his reverie, and brought a look of keen interest to his 
face. 

“I’m thinking we’ll see some life before long, boys,” 
said Coporal Otis. “I heard something on the quiet this 
afternoon. You know Flying Thunder demanded a big 
ransom for the loss of his son? Well, the Government 
don’t intend to pay up a red cent, because Deerfoot had 
no business to steal the money and run away from the 
school. The old chief is said to be in a terrible rage. 
They sent him word yesterdav.” 

“If that’s the case look out fur squalls,” remarked Jim 
Akers, one of the old scouts attached to the fort. “Flying 
Thunder is a bad Injun, an’ he’s been spoiling fur a row 
this long time. He’ll need looking arter.” 

“Didn’t they ever find Deerfoot’s body?” Linn asked, 
eagerly. 

“Nary a hair of it,” replied the sutler. “You see, he 
fell down a hole in a cavern, and there was a stream of 
water at the bottom that swept him deeper underground. 
It’s a pity, for he was as likely a young Indian as ever I 
seen. He’s often been at the fort.” 

“I knew him well,” declared Private Smith, “and I 
didn’t think it was in him to turn thief.” 

“He was not a thief,” exclaimed Linn. “He tried to 
run away all right enough, but he never stole the money.” 

“First time I’ve heard that stated,” said Trumpeter 
Grant. “What do you know about it, youngster?” 

“I — I come from the East, you know,” stammered Linn, 
blushing with confusion, “and — and I have friends in Car- 
lisle. Deerfoot had a reputation there for honesty.” 

“Mebbe you’ve been in Carlisle,” said Corporal Otis. 
“Did you know Captain Cameron?” 


A Call to Service for Troop A. 79 

“I've met him/’ Linn answered, wishing that the sub- 
ject would be dropped. 

“Cameron was a fine officer,” said Sergeant Mull, “and 
I’d like to see him out here again. There’s some talk 
of his being transferred from the East.” 

“I served under him at Fort Bennet,” spoke up Private 
Reily. “Do you mind his son? I think the lad’s name 
was Bruce. He was as full of wickedness as an egg is 
of meat. Bless me I he could have given you old rounders 
a few lessons !” 

“The East knocked that out of him,” replied the sutler. 
“Fve heard that he’s doing well now, and expects to enter 
West Point soon.” 

“I reckon it was more high spirits than sheer cussed- 
ness,” added the corporal, “though it’s a good thing they 
got him away from here ; the frontier is a bad training 
school for a lad.” 

Linn felt that the conversation was taking a danger- 
ous turn, and, though he was trying hard to suppress his 
emotion, he feared that something might betray him. He 
wg.s heartily glad, therefore, when Sergeant Mull took his 
pipe from between his lips and said, slowly : 

“Speaking of Flying Thunder, comrades — if the old 
chief chooses to make trouble, he’ll likely find some one 
to help him brew it. This is the day Gray Fox comes 
back from Washington. He went there with half a dozen 
of his braves to ask the Great Father to give him more 
land and rations, and I heard the colonel say he’d been 
refused. He’ll be pretty sore and disappointed about 
it.” 

“Yes, he comes on the evening train,” said Ross, one 
of the company clerks, “and a lot of his people rode down 
to Chamberlain to meet him. The agent gave them per- 
mission to leave the reservation. Rather a foolish thing, 


8o 


A Call to Service, for Troop A. 

I should say. And Gray Fox’s brother, Crooked Nose, 
is with the party.” 

“They won’t be in any too good a humor when they 
hear the result of Gray Fox’s visit,” replied the sergeant. 
“They had better have been kept on the reservation.” 

“By the way, that batch of new recruits are due to-day,” 
said Ross. “They are timed to arrive at Chamberlain at 
six o’clock, and they ought to be here in an hour.” 

“You mean those fellows from Fort Gregg, down in 
Kansas?” grumbled Private Smith. “I hear they’re a 
tough crowd — recruited during the last two months from 
different points in the Southwest. It’s a pity we’ve got 
to have them.” 

“They go to the infantry,” said the sergeant, “and 
Colonel Banks will soon lick them into shape, flow 
many are there?” 

“A hundred,” replied Ross. “It will take just about 
that to fill out the regiment.” 

“And who’s in charge?” asked the sutler. 

“Lieutenant Somebody or other,” Ross answered. “I 
didn’t hear the name. We’ll know pretty soon, when they 
come marching in. Hello ! look there ! What’s up now ?” 

The loungers on the bench rose to their feet with one 
accord. The telegraph operator had just bolted out of 
his office, holding a yellow paper in one hand. He dashed 
across the parade-ground to the colonel’s residence and 
vanished within. 

A moment later the eagerly watching group saw Colo- 
nel Bromley and the operator hasten over to the officers’ 
quarters. 

“That means business,” exclaimed Corporal Otis. 

“There’s a row somewhere.” added Ross, “and I wish 
I was going to be in it.” 

“Look! here comes Lieutenant Coghill.” cried Linn, in 
great excitement. 


8i 


A Call to Service for Troop A. 

The young officer strode briskly up to the sutler’s store, 
carrying himself with an importance worthy of the occa- 
sion. 

“You fellows are wanted,” he exclaimed. “Cut for 
equipments and mounts. Move lively; don’t waste any 
time. Troop A is ordered out. Hark ! there goes 'boots 
and saddles’ now.” 

As* he spoke a bugle rang sweetly over the parade- 
ground, and knots of blue-coated figures were seen hasten- 
ing from all directions. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


WHAT THE TROOPERS FOUND. 

Out through the main gate of the fort, past the saluting 
sentries, dashed Troop A — by long odds the finest and 
best disciplined troop of that regiment of horse, the Sev- 
enth Cavalry. Swiftly had the call to service been 
obeyed, and now the men went pounding rapidly over 
the plain in the direction of the town of Chamberlain, 
their repeating rifles and Colt’s revolvers glistening under 
the starry sky. 

“I wonder what’s up?” said Linn, to himself. “A row 
with the Indians, most likely, from what I heard this 
evening. If this was another troop, or if it was com- 
manded by any officer but Captain Norman, I might stand 
a chance of getting special mention — and that would mean 
promotion. But as things are now, I can’t even hope. 
It’s hard luck.” 

“Don’t look so blue, Osborne,” whispered Private 
Reily, who divined what was passing in the lad’s mind. 
“There’s a row ahead of us, and if you distinguish your- 
self it’s the major or the colonel who will hear of it — in 
spite of Captain Norman.” 

“Do you think so?” said Linn, brightening up. “And 
what do you suppose is the trouble? Indians?” 

“That’s about it, Osborne,” was the reply. “Not that 
it will be much of a row, though. Gray Fox has likely 
come home in a fit of anger, and he and his braves are 
trying to carry things with a high hand in the town. 
They’ll wilt at the first sight of our blue-coats ” 


What the Troopers Found. 83 

‘‘Gray Fox has nothing to do with the matter,’’ inter- 
rupted the quiet voice of Sergeant Mull, who was riding 
close by. “His train is no more than due by this time. 
I saw the telegram just before we started.” 

“And what was it about?” asked Linn. 

“It was from the town marshal, asking for help,” re- 
plied the sergeant. “Those new recruits have broken out 
in a row, and are fighting drunk. The officer in charge 
can’t control them.” 

“Is that all?” growled Private Reily. “Hanged if it 
ain’t a shame to send Troop A on such dirty work!” 

“I’d rather it was a row with Indians,” said Linn, who 
was bitterly disappointed to learn the object of the expedi- 
tion. 

“And you may wish not before long,” declared the 
sergeant. “If these chaps are what they’re said to be, 
we’ll have our hands full. I know the town marshal well, 
and he’s .not the man ” 

“Less talking there in ranks!” called out Lieutenant 
Coghill, spurring his horse toward the rear of the column. 

The admonition was obeyed, and in grim silence the 
troopers rode on over the plain. * 

Chamberlain, the terminus of a number of railroads, 
was only seven miles from Fort Sandiman. It was be- 
tween eight and nine o’clock when the column rode over 
the Missouri bridge and entered the outskirts of the 
town. Plainly the trouble was not yet over. The deep 
hum of brawling voices mingled with the screech and 
rumble of a railway train slowing up at the end of the 
line. 

When Captain Norman and his troopers clattered 
alongside the station, they found the platform crowded 
with Indians, all decked out in feathers and barbaric 
finery, and talking and gesticulating in sullen and angry 
tones. 


84 What the Troopers Found. 

Gray Fox and his brother. Crooked Nose, towered 
above the rest. It was evident that the Brule chief and 
his retinue of braves had returned from Washington in a 
bad humor, and without the customary gifts from the 
Great Father. It was evident, also, that they were now 
complaining freely to the score of tribesmen who had 
come to meet them. So intent were they on their own 
affairs that they paid no heed to the row in the town, or 
to the arrival of the cavalry. 

Troop A rode on past the end of the station — where 
the Sioux had picketed their horses — and, turning a cor- 
ner, found themselves at the top of the main street. Di- 
rectly in front the way was blocked by groups of civilians 
— settlers, cowboys, and town people — who seemed to be 
doing nothing more than discussing the situation. 

Further down the broad street, which was lined on both 
sides with low, wooden buildings, little knots of men — 
some in red shirts, and some in United States blue — were 
standing in quiet and peaceable attitudes under the glare 
of oil-lamps. 

But the row and tumult, if hidden from sight, were to 
be heard plainly enough. From three or four of the low 
structures, whose windows blazed with light, proceeded 
shouting and yelling, angry curses, pounding and bang- 
ing, and a noisy tinkle of breaking glass and crockery. 

Captain Norman watched the scene for a moment in 
silent perplexity, and with a darkened brow. Then he 
urged his halted steed to a trot. 

“Make way, there!” he called, sternly. “Forward, 
men! Clear the street.” 

As the column moved on, the crowd parted, and some 
shouted loudly that the soldiers had arrived from the 
fort. The word spread, and there was a sudden forward 
advance from the lower part of the street. A burly, red- 
shirted man, with his right arm in a sling and a bloody 


What the Troopers Found. 85 

bandage around his forehead, ran out from one side, and 
called to Captain Norman. 

. “Halt!” cried the captain, checking his horse as he 
recognized Tom Benwood, the doughty town marshal of 
Chamberlain. 

“What are you doing here, Benwood?” he added, 
angrily. “Is this the way you keep the peace?” 

“Beggin’ your pardon, but I’ve done my level best,” 
returned the marshal. “I can hardly keep my feet now 
fur the dizzy pain in my head, where I got cracked by 
a flyin’ bottle. An’ I’ve got a bullet in my arm — it’s my 
pistol arm, too. This is as ugly a crowd as ever I seen, 
an’ they’re running the town in spite of me.” 

“How did it begin?” 

“It begun on the cars, sir, where the recruits must have 
had a lot of smuggled whisky,” replied Benwood. “And 
as soon as ever the train pulled into the station the fellows 
out an’ run fur more drinks, an’ swarmed into Bill Jack- 
son’s saloon. They was purty near crazy drunk already, 
and when Bill refused ’em more they went fur him. He 
smashed one feller on the head with a beer mallet, and 
then skipped out the back door. The gang hunted him 
high an’ low, vowin’ to kill him, an’ when they couldn’t 
get trace of him they started to lay out the rest of the 
saloons ” 

“Where’s their officer?” interrupted Captain Norman. 

“In hospital, with a broken head,” said Benwood. “He 
was hit with a mug in Jackson’s place. The crowd is at 
it as lively as ever yet, captain — barrin’ a few sober heads 
who didn’t take part one way or another. Hark! you 
kin hear ’em howling. There’s some in Jackson’s saloon, 
and some next door in Thompson’s place ; but the worst 
lot is across the street in Black Mike’s dive. The ring- 
leader is with that party, an’ if you knowed him as well 
as I do, you wouldn’t care to tackle him. It’s as much 


86 What the Troopers Found. 

as my life is worth to try to arrest him, seein’ Fm so 
crippled up ” 

“There’s a ringleader, then?” demanded Captain Nor- 
man. 

“Yes; Jack Harkness is at the bottom of it,” said the 
marshal, “and it beats me how they ever come to enlist 
such a fellow. I knew him down in Texas fur a desper- 
ado an’ cut-throat five years ago ” 

“Jack Harkness!” exclaimed the captain. “Are you 
sure it’s the same man? You can’t be mistaken, you say? 
Well, he must have enlisted under a false name, and to 
escape punishment for some crime. Fm going to take 
him, dead or alive, and that ought to end the trouble.” 

“Be careful, captain,” warned Benwood. “Harkness 
has two big pistols, an’ the rest are more or less armed ; 
they broke into Sansom’s gun shop, an’ helped them- 
selves.” 

“There ain’t much time to lose, captain,” added a voice 
from the crowd. “If these drunken scoundrels find out 
that Gray Fox and his braves are up at the station they’ll 
likely pitch into ’em out of sheer devilment. And then, 
look out !” 

Captain Norman compressed his lips ominously as he 
leaped to the ground and gave the order to dismount. 
“Lieutenant Coghill,” he added, “pick out ten of your 
best men at once. You will remain in charge here, Ser- 
geant Mull. Block the way against the recruits, as they 
swarm out of the saloons, and let none get by you.” 

The orders were obeyed with military precision and 
speed. Scarcely a minute later the horses were huddled 
in a group, and the sergeant’s men were drawn in line 
across the street from sidewalk to sidewalk. Lieutenant 
Coghill was as quick to choose the ten men, and, to his 
great delight, Linn found himself among the number. 

On the quick-step, Captain Norman led his picked 


What the Troopers Found. 87 

troopers down the street, gathering in along the way the 
little knots of privates and non-commissioned officers be- 
longing to the batch’ of unruly recruits who had not 
dared to either join their comrades or interfere with 
their drunken rioting. The crowd of town-people fol- 
lowed discreetly in the rear, wishing to share the fun 
without its attendant dangers. 

The head of the procession came to a halt in the mid- 
dle of the street, equi-distant from the saloons of Jack- 
son and Thompson on the one side, and Black Mike’s 
dive on the other. In both there were boisterous yelling 
and profanity, and from the latter there came suddenly 
a frenzied chorus of howls, followed by revolver shots 
and flying missiles. 

’ Tom Ben wood pushed up to Captain Norman’s side. 

"That’s Harkness amusing himself,” he said, as the 
din changed to laughter and brisk clatter of feet on hol- 
low planking. ‘T hate to see you go in there, captain ; 
you’ll get the ruffian’s first bullet. I’d go myself quick 
enough, if I had the use of this pistol arm. Better bring 
your whole force down here, sir, an’ surround the place 
front and back — then you’ll have the drop on ’em.” 

Captain Norman smiled grimly. With all his faults 
he was a brave and intrepid man, and the last one to 
shrink from doing his duty, no matter under what cir- 
cumstances. 

"Hush ! no noise,” he whispered, in reply to the mar- 
shal. 

Then, with a gesture to the crowd to keep back, he 
stealthily crossed over to Black Mike’s dive. His men 
followed, Linn among the foremost of them. 

On the sidewalk the little group paused. The screen 
door of the saloon was closed, but one of the slats was 
missing, and through this aperture a fairly sweeping- 
view of the interior of the dive could be had. 


88 


What the Troopers Found. 

Black Mike was nowhere to be seen. The room was 
filled from wall to wall with tough-looking men in grimy 
blue shirts and trousers, some fighting, some wrapped in 
maudlin embrace, and all yelling and cursing at the top 
of their voices. 

Three recruits were behind the bar. tearing down 
glasses and bottles of raw liquor from the shelves 
and tossing them at random into the crowd. Two others 
had forced open a keg of beer at one end of the counter, 
and were filling mugs and pannikins from the steadily 
running stream. 

A tall giant of a man, with his evil and clean-shaven 
face bloated and flushed by drink and passion, was 
perched on top of the counter, dancing and capering from 
one end to the other. This was the terrible Jack Hark- 
ness, and he had a huge revolver in each hand. As he 
pranced about, he fired shot after shot into the ceiling, 
ripping out fearful oaths and defiantly calling on the 
whole United States army to come and take him. 

“I’ll take you soon enough, my man/’ muttered Cap- 
tain Norman to himself, after watching the scene for a 
few seconds. Then he boldly pushed the screen door 
open and stepped into the dive. Lieutenant CoghiH, Cor- 
poral Otis, and Private Osborne were the first to follow 
at his heels. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HOW GRAY EOX RESENTED A BLOW. 

In spite of his drunken bombast and rantings, the des- 
perado was quick as lightning to scent danger, and he 
saw the little group of strangers in cavalry blue and 
yellow the instant they entered the room. His capering 
feet stood still, out when both his arms, and two big 
Colt’s revolvers stared the troopers in the face before 
one of them could lift a weapon. 

“Stand right there, gentlemen,” cried Harkness, with 
a savage oath. ‘‘Eyes to the front— hands down! I’ll 
drop the first man that tries to raise a shooting-iron. 
That’s dead right. I mean what I say.” 

Evidently he did mean it, and he had the drop on the 
troopers. Not one of them stirred, and those entering 
from behind paused on the threshold, understanding the 
situation at a glance. With folded arms Captain Norman 
gazed straight and sternly at the ruffian. There was no 
sign of fear on his face, but he well knew that the lifting 
of a weapon by himself or one of his men would mean 
instant death. 

The other occupants of the room were of different 
metal from Harkness. As soon as they caught sight of 
the captain and his men they realized the enormity of 
what they had done, and the possible consequences that 
would follow. The shock partly sobered them, and it was 
ludicrous to see their expressions change. 

The shower of bottles and glasses from behind the bar 


90 How Gray Fox Resented a Blow. 

ceased, and the stream of beer flowed unheeded from the 
keg, and trickled over the floor. Some of the recruits 
dodged under the counter, others edged toward the door, 
and a deep silence fell on all. 

“If it’s a drink you want, gentlemen, why you’re quite 
welcome,” the desperado went on, his tone growing more 
ugly and sneering. “What’ll you have? Comrades, fill 
up the glasses fur the visitors.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Captain Norman, in a 
loud, clear voice. “It’s you I want. Lower those weap- 
ons, my man, and come down here and surrender.” 

The ruffian laughed and swore in one breath, and his 
big teeth showed between his parted lips. His relaxing 
arms stiffened out, and the two Colt’s revolvers covered 
the troopers with a more deadly aim than ever. 

“Your game is up,” the captain added. “You know 
my authority, and you know I’m not a man to be trifled 
with. I’ve got a troop of cavalry here to back me up. 
Are you coming down?” 

“No,” yelled the desperado. “I dare you to come and 
take me. I don’t care a darn for Uncle Sam’s whole army 
as long as I’ve got a shot left. Fur half a cent, I’d knock 
them buttons off your uniform, captain, an’ rip them bars 
off your shoulder ” 

“Drop that, old man,” interrupted one of the recruits. 
“It’s just as the cap’n says. The game’s up, an’ you 
can’t do better’n surrender.” 

“Shay, that’s dead right,” exclaimed another, in maud- 
lin tones. “Stow your shootin’-irons an’ come down. It’s 
no use to buck ag’in Uncle Sam.” 

“You skulkin’ cowards!” snarled the ruffian. “Is this 
the way you go back on a comrade? I’m running this 
shebang, and T won’t stand no monkey business. If you 
an’ your men don’t like my company, captain, why you 


How Gray Fox Resented a Blow. 91 

can slide out purty quick. If you want to be sociable an’ 
take a drink with me, you can stay.” 

During this brief speech, half a dozen of the recruits 
lurched stealthily out of the door, unchecked by the troop- 
ers standing there at bay. In the confusion a daring 
thought flashed into Linn’s mind, and on the spur of the 
moment he dropped to the floor, unseen by the sharp 
eyes of Harkness. 

Corporal Otis detected the move, and evidently mis- 
took it for a cowardly desire to get out of danger, for 
he gave the lad an admonitory kick on the hind quarters. 
Linn suffered this to pass unnoticed, and on his hands 
and knees he crept over the floor in the direction of the 
counter, squirming like a snake between the legs of the 
thickly massed recruits, and momentarily expecting to 
be discovered and shot. 

But the desperado had eyes only for the little knot of 
motionless troopers, nor did he detect that one was miss- 
ing. His hands shook slightly as he kept the two big re- 
volvers pointed. Drink and passion were telling on him, 
and were fast destroying what atom of prudence re- 
mained in his brain. He was working himself into a 
mood of ungovernable fury and bloodthirstiness. 

“What are you goin’ to do about it, captain ?” he burst 
out, with a string of profanity. “I’m tired of foolin’ 
with you an’ your Government slaves. Right about face, 
there! Now, march through that door. Quick, or I’ll 
let these triggers slip.” 

Not a trooper stirred, but more than one hand tight- 
ened unseen on the butt of a revolver. Captain Norman 
leaned slightly forward, his bronzed face pale but reso- 
lute. 

“This farce has been going on too long,” he said, stern- 
ly, “and it has got to end. For the last time I command 


92 How Gray Fox Resented a Blow. 

you to surrender. You know what will be the conse- 
quences if you dare to fire on me or my men, Jack Hark- 
ness ” 

The name had slipped out unaware, for the captain had 
no intention of admitting that he knew the desperado’s 
past title and record. But the mischief was done now 
without recall. A rush of hot blood turned Harkness' 
face purple, and he gritted his teeth ; a deadly fury shone 
from his bloodshot eyes, and there was also something of 
fear and terror in his glance. 

“That seals your fate!” he cried, with a horrible oath. 
“If the game’s up for me, captain, it’s up for you, too. 
Here goes for your heart, and Jack Harkness never 
misses his aim.” 

With a diabolical grin on his face, the ruffian pointed 
one of the big revolvers at Captain Norman’s breast, pur- 
posely delaying to pull the trigger that he might enjoy 
his victim’s suspense a little longer. The crowd in the 
room were hushed and awe-stricken, and not a man in- 
terfered by word or deed. With trembling hands, Cor- 
poral Otis dived for his pistol, but it was caught on the 
buckle of his belt, which had shifted around to one side. 

With a howl of drunken rage the desperado pulled the 
trigger, but just at that fateful instant Linn sprang to 
his feet directly in front of the counter. With both hands 
he grabbed the maddened man by the ankles, and jerked 
on them with all his strength. 

Bang! went the big revolver in the air, and over and 
backward went Harkness, landing out of sight, and with 
a tremendous crash, behind the counter. Amid the cheers 
and shouts that greeted this daring act. a prudent desire 
to escape must have penetrated the ruffian’s stupefied 
brain, for an instant later he rose to view at an open 
door which led to a rear apartment from the corner of 
the bar. 


How Gray Fox Resented a Blow. 93 

Bang! bang! bang! three shots roared and flashed, all 
aimed so recklessly that the bullets found lodgment high 
on the opposite wall. For a fleeting second Jack Hark- 
ness’ bloated face, insane with rage and intoxication, 
glared through the curling smoke. Then he was gone, 
banging the door shut, and floundering with booted feet 
amid the wreck of chairs and tables in the adjoining 
apartment. 

“After him, men !” roared Captain Norman, as he 
dashed forward with drawn revolvers. “Don’t let the 
ruffian escape. Take him dead or alive! There is a price 
on his head in three States !” 

Those of Troop A who were outside and on the 
threshold had surged into the room at the first shot, and 
now the drunken and thoroughly cowed recruits w r ere 
flung right and left as the little band of cavalrymen 
plowed across the floor in a blue and yellow wave. 

Right over the bar vaulted Captain Norman, Linn, and 
Corporal Otis, with their comrades at their heels. Crash ! 
down went the door, and into the dark room beyond tum- 
bled the whole party. They stampeded through it with 
reckless haste, tumbled out the door at the farther end, 
cleared the yard in flying leaps, bore down the rickety 
board fence, and found themselves in a narrow thorough- 
fare that ran parallel with the main street of the town. 

“There he goes !” gasped Captain Norman, pointing to 
a flying figure some sixty feet distant. “Run your best, 
men ! We must have him dead or alive !’’ 

The flying figure was Jack Harkness, and he was run- 
ning up the street with great strides in the direction of 
the railway station. The roar of the chase came to his 
cars, and he glanced over his shoulder with a jeering 
howl. As he ran on he fired three shots at his pursuers, 
but all went wide of the mark. 


94 How Gray Fox Resented a Blow. 

The troopers did not return the fire, but sped on fleetly, 
confident of overtaking the ruffian ere long. At the cor- 
ner of the first cross street they were joined by Tom 
Benwood and a half a dozen others, who had circled 
around from the front of the saloon, and they all rushed 
on together. 

The fleeing desperado lost a little in the next half- 
minute, but when he vanished from sight at the top of 
the street his pursuers were still forty feet behind. An 
instant later the troopers swept around the corner in time 
to witness a daring and thrilling sight. 

Harkness had already reached the end of the station, 
where the Sioux horses were fastened. The Indians were 
still grouped on the platform, their attention as yet riv- 
eted on the bunch of troopers who had just appeared in 
sight. 

Slipping his pair of revolvers into his belt, the fugitive 
caught the nearest horse by the bridle, and by a strong 
jerk broke the detaining lariat. At that instant Gray 
Fox himself leaped ofi the platform and sprang with a 
threatening gesture in front of the intruder. 

With a drunken howl and a curse, Harkness struck the 
Brule chief a terrific fist blow in the face, sending him 
heavily and full length to the ground. Then he sprang 
into the saddle of the stolen horse, and spurred madly 
down the street in the direction of the Missouri. 

It was all done and over so quickly that the troopers 
could not reach the spot in time to interfere. Now, when 
they would have fired after the fleeing ruffian, their aim 
was barred by the whole band of Indians, who came 
jumping and scrambling off the platform, and surged 
around Gray Fox just as he rose to his feet. 

In the confusion that followed the little handful of 
troopers were powerless. With a maddened yelling and 
screaming all but one or two of the Sioux rushed for 


How Gray Fox Resented a Blow. 95 

their steeds, untied them, and scrambled into the saddle. 
Led by Gray Fox himself, the whole band of braves clat- 
tered noisily and with frenzied shouting down the street, 
bent on wreaking vengeance on the white desperado who 
had struck their beloved chief and stolen a horse. 


CHAPTER XV. 


A DOUBLE CHASE. 

With his breathless and perspiring troopers clustered 
around him, Captain Norman stood gazing after the van- 
ishing braves. 

“Heavens, this is awful!” he groaned. “The Sioux 
were in a bad enough temper as it was ; and now that the 
chief has been knocked down by the desperado, they will 
be ripe for any devilment. Why, this night’s work may 
lead to a general outbreak.” 

“Right you are, captain,” cried Tom Ben wood, “and 
the worst of it is that Harkness will shoot some of the 
redskins if he is brought to bay. You see he’s crazy 
drunk ” 

“If murder is done, there will be no stopping the row,” 
interrupted Lieutenant Coghill. “It is important to lose 
no time, captain ” 

“No, every moment is precious,” exclaimed Captain 
Norman. “Take those men, lieutenant, and go in pursuit 
at once. Don’t spare your horses. Pass the Indians, if 
you can, and capture Harkness at all hazards. I trust 
everything to your judgment. Remember that this is a 
grave crisis.” 

“I know it,” replied the lieutenant. “1 will do my best, 
sir.” 

“I can’t go with you,” added Captain Norman, “and T 
can’t spare any more men. I must discipline these unruly 
recruits before they break out again, and get them started 
to the fort. I will push after you later, if possible ” 


A Double Chase. 


97 


Already the young officer had saluted, and was off on 
the run, followed by his men. They pushed through the 
crowd of excited recruits and town people, quickly 
reached the horses, and swung themselves into the saddle. 

It was all done in brief time, and ere the Indians had 
gained much of a start the little cavalry detachment was 
past the railway station and in full gallop out of the town. 
The force numbered just a dozen, Trumpeter Grant hav- 
ing been added at the last moment. 

They thundered across the Missouri bridge, and went 
pounding with muffled clatter over the soft and moonlit 
sage plain. At a considerable distance straight ahead a 
dark body of horsemen were visible, but, as yet, thank 
God ! no pistol shots had roused the slumbering echoes of 
the night. 

The desperado was evidently keeping well in the lead, 
and the direction in which he was fleeing — to the south- 
west — seemed to indicate that he counted on finding shel- 
ter along the woody banks of Bull Creek. 

The men of Troop A were splendidly mounted, but the 
under-sized Indian ponies were quite the equal in speed 
and endurance of the Government steeds. So, when the 
chase had lasted for three miles, pursuers and pursued 
were separated by about the same distance as at the start. 

The Sioux galloped on in a compact line, and with no 
more noise than the patter of their horses’ hoofs. Dog- 
gedly behind pounded the troopers, Lieutenant Coghill 
riding slightly in advance, his ears on the alert, and his 
eyes scanning the horizon. 

The voting officer, as well as each one of his men, re- 
alized to the full the gravity of the situation. They un- 
derstood that it rested with them to nip in the bud what 
might prove to be a long and bloody Indian outbreak, and 
they also knew how slight a chance of success they had. 

These dismal forebodings weighed less on Linn than on 


A Double Chase. 


98 

his comrades. This was the lad’s first opportunity of 
active service, and now that he found himself face to face 
with what he had ardently and hopelessly longed for, the 
lad felt a strange sense of elation and joy. He was justly 
proud of what he had already accomplished — though 
modestly not rating it as high as it deserved — and he fan- 
cied that another plucky feat might win for him the cov- 
eted grade of a non-commissioned officer. And that 
would be the first step in the career he had vowed to 
achieve. 

‘‘Do you think we are going to have a scrimmage, sir?’" 
he asked, with undisguised eagerness, of Corporal Otis. 

“God forbid, lad,” was the reply. “But there’s no tell- 
ing what may happen. If Harkness gets into a row with 
the Indians we’re bound by our duty to rescue him, and 
in that case the bullets will fly. This is one of them ag- 
gravatin' situations that crop out on the frontier from 
time to time.” 

The corporal paused long enough to extract a plug of 
tobacco from his pocket and bite off a huge chunk. 

“If the Sioux can only kill the ruffian before he shoots 
any of them," .he added, “why, that will wind up the 
scrape to a finish, and in a way that will satisfy all hands. 
But it ain’t likely.” 

“Not a bit of it,” chimed in the trumpeter. “Harkness 
will fight to the death. If we only dared leave him to his 
fate ! But there’s the rub ! It’s our duty to get hold of 
him and turn him over to Uncle Sam for his deserts.” 

“If it comes to a scrimmage, I’ll warrant you’ll be cool 
enough, Osborne,” said Private Reily, in a low and rather 
envious tone. “You’ve got the right stuff in you. I 
never saw a neater thing than you did to-night — ay, or a 
pluckier one.” 

“Thanks,” replied Linn. “Really, I don’t think so • 
much of it, though. It was easy enough to creep across 


A Double Chase. 


99 

the floor, and once I got my grip on Harkness he had to 
drop.” 

“It was something that didn’t occur to the rest of us,” 
said Reily, “and that only one man in a thousand would 
have thought of. Major Dallas will hear of it, and then 
you’re sure to get your grade in spite of the captain ” 

“In spite of Captain Norman?” Linn interrupted, 
sharply. “Why, I saved his life. Harkness was just 
going to fire at him ” 

“I know that, Osborne. But I was watching Captain 
Norman, and he actually bit his lip and looked vexed 
when you jerked Harkness off his feet. It’s no use hash- 
ing over the old story. You and I understand it, and so 
do half the men of the troop. Captain Norman has 
vowed to keep you in the ranks, and now that you’re in a 
fair way to rise he’ll dislike you more than ever, even 
though he knows that you saved his life. 

“It sounds queer, but it’s just as I tell you. The cap- 
tain is a splendid soldier, and a fair and square man until 
his private purposes are crossed. Then he’s a good hater, 
and a crafty one. And he sees in you a contradiction of 
his pet hobby. Once in the ranks, always in the ranks — 
that’s his theory. This time you’ll get your grade in spite 
of him, but look out for the future, and keep your eyes 
open. Take my advice — I mean it well.” 

“I know you do/’ Linn said, gratefully. “You’re a 
good fellow, Reily, and I promise you I’ll be on my guard. 
But I can scarcely believe that Captain Norman will ” 

Bang! the dull report of a revolver rang on the night 
air, breaking off the conversation between Privates Os- 
borne and Reily, and making the heart of every man in 
the detachment leap with excitement and alarm. All eyes 
peered forward, and the Indians were seen to spread out 
in a long and broken skirmish line, and then to check 
their galloping steeds to a rapid trot. 


IOO 


A Double Chase. 


Bang! bang! two more shots followed in quick suc- 
cession, and a moment later came a third. 

“No mistaking that,” cried Corporal Otis. “They’re 
gaining on Harkness, and he’s peppering away at them 
from the saddle. So far his aim’s been bad, for there 
ain’t a redskin down 

“They want to take him alive and torture him,” added 
Jones, the second sergeant of Troop A ; “that’s why they 
don’t fire back.” 

“We must prevent bloodshed if possible,” shouted Lieu- 
tenant Coghill. “We may be in time yet. Forward, men ! 
Close up ! Charge !” 

In a single line the troopers galloped on, gaining splen- 
didly at the first wild spurt. Nearer and nearer they 
drew to the scattered column of Sioux. Now they were 
only twenty yards in the rear, and a moment more would 
take them flying past, and place them between Harkness 
and his pursuers. 

But just then a red flash blazed out of the gloom ahead, 
and with the crack of the desperate ruffian’s pistol one of 
the Indians tossed up his arms and pitched head first out 
of the saddle. His riderless steed swerved to the left, 
and went flying over the plain. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A CRITICAL, SITUATION. 

The effect of Harkness’ shot was seen by all the In- 
dians, and the moment that the stricken Sioux pitched to 
the ground a wild yell of vengeance rose on the air. The 
greater part of the braves dashed on in pursuit of the des- 
perado, but half a dozen pulled up their steeds and rode 
back to where their comrade had fallen. 

An instant later the troopers came galloping to the spot, 
and halted abruptly. With a pallid face Lieutenant Cog- 
hill swung himself from the saddle, and fearlessly pushed 
his way into the little group of dismounted Indians. He 
gave one quick glance, and then turned toward his men. 

“Good heavens !” he exclaimed, hoarsely, “this is far 
worse than I thought.” 

No words were needed to tell what he meant. Prone 
on the ground, with his grim face staring up at the moon- 
lit sky, lay Crooked Nose, the brother of the Brule chief. 
He was stone dead — shot through the heart by the heavy 
pistol bullet. 

A shuddering silence fell on the troopers as they real- 
ized the consequences of this murderous deed. Gray Fox 
had been the first to turn back after the shot, and to 
crouch beside the body. Now he stood up, wringing his 
hands, and uttering shrill and wailing cries. The other 
Sioux joined in, and the dismal sound echoed far on the 
night air. 

The presence of the soldiers was unheeded. The old 
chief’s face worked convulsively with grief and rage as 


102 


A Critical Situation. 


he poured out a torrent of lamentation for his dead 
brother, and called down vengeance on the assassin. He 
spoke in the Dakota tongue, but his utterances were un- 
derstood by the lieutenant and several of his men. 

The thrilling scene lasted but a short time, and was 
brought suddenly to a close. With a few muttered words 
Gray Fox leaped into the saddle and dashed off in the di- 
rection of the pursuit, followed by three of his com- 
panions ; two Indians remained with the body of Crooked 
Nose. 

Anticipating this move, the lieutenant mounted with 
equal swiftness, and as the word rang from his lips the 
troopers went galloping forward. For half a mile they 
hung pretty closely to the rear of the Indians, though 
losing gradually in spite of all they could do. Meanwhile 
shot after shot was ringing above the muffled pounding of 
hoofs, telling of lively but invisible work going on in 
front. 

A distance of thirty yards separated the two parties as 
they rode over a gentle ridge of ground, and from the 
crest a clear view of the scene of action burst suddenly 
upon their vision. 

A quarter of a mile away, in a clump of trees that, 
fringed the shore of Bull Creek, stood a deserted and half- 
ruined log cabin — once the home of some settler or pros- 
pector. Here Harkness had taken refuge. His horse 
lay dead some distance in front of the doorway, and from 
the dark shelter of the cabin his revolvers were flashing 
and cracking at brief intervals. 

The besiegers were as much at bay as Harkness him- 
self. With a wholesome respect for the ruffian’s aim 
and weapons, the score of Sioux braves were riding to and 
fro in a half-circle, at a distance of several hundred feet, 
yelling at the top of their voices, and firing shot after shot 
at the cabin. 


A Critical Situation 


103 


As soon as Gray Fox and his companions rode over the 
ridge and saw what was'going on, they jerked their horses 
sharply around and faced the little squad of troopers. 

“Go back! go back!” the chief yelled, passionately, 
shaking his rifle in one muscular hand. “Leave us to 
deal with the slayer of Crooked Nose. My brother’s blood 
calls for vengeance." 

Lieutenant Coghill heard and understood, for he was 
fairly well versed in the Dakota tongue.. He did not 
hesitate a second, nor did he slacken speed. 

“Get out of the -way, Gray Fox,” he cried. “Call your 
braves off, and return to the reservation. Justice shall 
be done to the murderer.” 

A shiny revolver stared the Brule chief in the face, and 
added emphasis to the command. With a scowl and an 
imprecation, he swerved his pony to one side out of the 
path, an example that was followed quickly by his com- 
panions. 

“Now for the cabin!” shouted the young officer, as he 
led his men down the slope at a furious gallop. “We’ll 
have our hands full to capture the fellow and prevent 
more bloodshed, but it’s got to be done.” 

The rapid advance of the troopers took the scattered 
line of Sioux unawares, and, not having Gray Fox at hand 
to counsel them, they were unable to make up their minds 
what to do at the moment. So they sullenly opened a 
wide gap in the centre, and allowed the lieutenant and 
his squad to ride past them unmolested. 

“Harkness hasn’t fired a shot for half a minute,” cried 
Trumpeter Grant. “I reckon he’s had enough, and will 
surrender like a baby. But he may take us for Indians in 
this dim light. Shall I give him a signal, sir?” 

“Yes, go ahead,” said the lieutenant, who thought this 
a wise suggestion. 

The trumpeter raised the bugle to his lips, and as the 


104 


A Critical Situation. 


first note floated sweetly on the air, two shots rang almost 
simultaneously from the front wall of the cabin, which 
was now but sixty feet distant. 

Lieutenant Cogh ill’s steed went down in a quivering 
heap, flinging its rider heavily to the ground. At the 
same instant Corporal Otis gave a shrill cry, clapped 
one hand to his breast, and dropped like a log from the 
saddle. 

In less time than it takes to tell, the troopers had dis- 
mounted, each man holding his horse, and were bending 
anxiously over their fallen comrades. Loud cries of anger 
and horror blended with the ferocious yells of the Sioux. 
Corporal Otis had been shot through the chest, and was 
just breathing his last. Lieutenant Coghill lay bleed- 
ing and unconscious on the sod, his right arm broken and 
his forehead gashed by a sharp stone. 

For a moment the near presence of the Indians was for- 
gotten. Carbines were hastily unslung, and a hoarse de- 
mand for vengeance rose from every lip. But just then 
Harkriess came tottering to the cabin door. His face 
showed pale in the moonlight, and he was evidently quite 
sober now. 

“I didn’t mean to do it!” he gasped. "Before God, I 
didn’t! I took you fellows fur Injuns, an’ T fired to save 
my life ” 

There was a mad rush, and Harkness was knocked 
down in a trice and stripped of his fatal weapons. Some 
were savage enough to kill him on the spot, but wiser 
counsels prevailed, and his arms were secured behind 
his back. 

“T tell you I didn’t mean to do it.” protested the cowed 
and shivering wretch, in a shrill voice that was heard 
above the curses and threats of his captors. "Tt was a 
mistake, and they can't hang a man fur that, can they? 


A Critical Situation. 


105 

I own up to shooting an Injun. L had to do it in self- 
fense, fur it was my life or theirs— — 

“Here they come,” he added, in a terror-stricken wail. 
“They’re after me. For Heaven’s sake, save me, boys ! 
Don’t let the red devils take me — they’ll kill me by inches. 
And you darsen’t give me up. You’re bound by oath to 
protect me.” 

The Sioux were coming, sure enough. The main body 
had ridden hack to confer with Gray Fox, and now they 
were all advancing from the foot of the ridge, riding 
slowly and silently in a compact line. 

With Corporal Otis dead, and the lieutenant uncon- 
scious, the command devolved on Second Sergeant Jones. 
But that officer had fairly lost his head, and was in no fit 
condition to assume the responsibilty. 

“They're coming to demand the prisoner,” he groaned, 
“and I don’t see anything for it but to give him up. If 
we refuse we’ll likely be butchered to a man.” 

“We’ve got to refuse,” cried Private Reily. “It’s our 
duty to hold the prisoner at all hazards, much as he de- 
serves to be handed over for torture.” 

“That’s the talk,” shouted another. “Duty first, my 
boys. We’re in a tight place, but pluck will pull us 
through. There are thirty of the Sioux, and we number 
just ten. . Three redskins to one of Uncle Sam’s men ain’t 
bad odds. And we have a strong position ” 

“They’ll soon be here,” interrupted Linn. “Let’s get 
ready.” 

This sound advice was acted upon at once. Finding 
that the second sergeant was not to be depended upon, the 
men took matters into their own hands. No retreat was 
possible, for the Sioux were in front, and behind flowed 
the deep and swift tide of Bull Creek. 

The horses were hurriedly staked in the shelter of the 
trees, and the fettered desperado was hidden £rom sight 


106 A Critical Situation. 

in a far corner of the cabin, and commanded to make no 
noise at peril of his life. The dead corporal and the 
senseless body of the lieutenant were also brought into 
the cabin. 

Then the troopers clustered just outside the doorway, 
waiting with drawn carbines for the issue of the expected 
conference. Sergeant Jones, pale and shaky, stood a 
little in front with the trumpeter. Grant knew the Da- 
kota tongue, and was often employed as an interpreter. 

But brief time had been wasted in the preparations, 
and now the long and sullen line of Sioux was within two 
hundred feet. An instant later they halted, and Gray 
Fox detached himself from the rest. He rode forward 
to within ten feet of the cabin, and sharply reined up his 
pony. 

The fierce and haughty old Brule chief made an impos- 
ing figure as he sat astride the saddle, with the moonlight 
glistening on his bronzed features, on his fringed buck- 
skin breeches and crimson sash, on his bright-colored 
blanket and trailing head-dress of eagles’ feathers and 
herons’ plumes. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A CONFERENCE AND AN ATTACK. 

“My brother, Crooked Nose, has been slain by the 
white ruffian who wears the blue of your army,” began 
the chief, in a loud voice, and addressing himself to Ser- 
geant Jones. “His blood calls aloud for vengeance, and 
Gray Fox must heed the cry. My people have done no 
wrong, and we did not make the trouble. The soldiers 
of the Great Father must deliver up the murderer for 
punishment. I have spoken.” 

The chief paused for the reply, but it was not at once 
forthcoming. He sat upright in his saddle like a bronze 
statue, and the line of braves behind him waited in omi- 
nous silence. 

Sergeant Jones was not able to cope with the situation. 
His grade had been won by steady attention to duties, and 
until now he had never been confronted by clanger or re- 
sponsibility. His lips and cheeks turned white, and his 
watery blue eyes stared helplessly at the grim little hand- 
ful of troopers. 

“I — I don’t know what to do,” he stammered. “It ain’t 
fair that the decision should rest on me. If we refuse to 
give Harkness up, we’ll be killed and scalped to a man. 
I’d rather turn him over, and face the music afterward.” 

“Coward !” hissed a couple of low voices from the rear. 

The sergeant wheeled around angrily, and swore under 
his breath. 

“I’m talking for your own good,” he growled, “and 
you're too dumb to know it. One of you fellows go and 


108 A Conference and an Attack. 

see if the lieutenant has come to his senses yet. What 
he says will settle the matter ” 

“Gray Fox is waiting for an answer,” broke in the 
chief, sternly and impatiently. 

“He must have it right away,” muttered Private Reily, 
as the trumpeter interpreted the words. “The sergeant 
has lost his head men, and we’ve got to act for him. It’s 
plain as daylight what our duty is. We must stick to it, 
cost what it may.” 

As he spoke the trooper pushed forward alongside of 
Grant, and Sergeant Jones took advantage of the oppor- 
tunity to slide back to the door of the cabin. 

“Now for it,” said Reily. “This is the answer, Grant ; 
don’t miss a word. Tell the chief that the Great Father 
will punish the murderer as he deserves, but that we can 
on no account deliver him up. And warn him that he 
and his braves had better go quietly back to the reserva- 
tion.” 

The trumpeter delivered the message word for word, 
and Gray Fox listened intently. Then the chief rode a 
little closer, jerked his pony back on its haunches, and 
brandished his rifle defiantly. 

“My people must have the murderer,” he thundered. 
“We will deal with him in our own way. We know 
what the justice of the Great Father is, and we have no 
faith in his promises. It is our right to punish. We have 
done no wrong, nor did we make this trouble. The white 
ruffian dared to strike Gray Fox, and to steal one of our 
horses. He cowardly shot down my brother, Crooked 
Nose, and his life shall pay for it. He must be given up 
at once, and unless the soldiers of the Great Father do 
this my braves will leave not’one alive. I have spoken.” 

The trumpeter interpreted this speech, and the troopers 
received it without comment, though every man realized 
that the crisis was at hand. 


A Conference and an Attack. 109 

“I reckon Gray Fox means business/’ said Reily, “but 
so do we, for that matter. Tell the chief he can’t have 
Harkness. Tell him we admit that he and his people 
have been deeply wronged, but that the Great Father will 
deal with the murderer, and punish him to the full. Give 
him to understand that if he attempts any violence, he and 
his tribe will be wiped off the earth, and tell him this is 
our last word. 

“I think that will settle the old codger,” Reily added 
to his companions, as the trumpeter began to translate the 
speech. “It’s a bold bluff, and the chief will think twice 
before he bucks against Uncle Sam. But there’s no tell- 
ing what he’ll do. Be ready to get under cover, men, if 
it comes to the worst.” ’ 

A moment later the defiant reply had been delivered 
word for word, and as the trumpeter ended a breathless 
silence fell. For a few seconds Gray Fox sat like a rock. 
Then, without deigning to answer, he suddenly wheeled 
his pony around and dashed in a half-circle back to his 
braves, stopping again with his face to the troopers. 

“What does that mean?” exclaimed Linn. “Are they 
going to ” 

“Whoop!” Gray Fox’s voice rang loud and shrill, and 
up went his right arm as a signal. 

That quickly there was an answering burst of yells, and 
forward on a gallop came the whole line of Sioux — a 
seething mass of plunging hoofs and gleaming weapons, 
bronzed faces and fluttering blankets and plumes. 

“They mean murder — take shelter and be ready,” cried 
Private -Reily, his voice mingling with a howl of fright 
from Harkness and the crack of Indian rifles. 

In a trice the troopers had swarmed into the cabin, 
bullets pattering around them as they went. They 
dropped down right and left of the doorway, and each 


no A Conference and an Attack. 

man hurriedly thrust his carbine out at the gaping cracks 
between the rotten logs. 

“If they carry the place it’s all up with us,” shouted 
Reily. “We must stand them off — it’s that or death.” 

But he hesitated to give the order to fire, knowing that 
it meant a grave responsibility, and might lead to a court- 
martial. And Sergeant Jones, the actual commander of 
the squad, was groveling in fright upon the moldy floor. 

Linn was wild with excitement, and when a man by his 
side was shot in the arm, and leaped half up with the 
pain, the lad could keep silence no longer. 

“Here they come !” he cried, as the yelling savages 
loomed close in the moonlight, and the bullets pattered 
more thickly on the logs. “Let them have it, men ! Aim 
well ” 

The bang of Linn’s carbine was simultaneous with a 
volley from the whole squad. Again the troopers fired, 
and with a cool and deadly aim. It was more than the 
Sioux could stand. As the smoke lifted a cheering sight 
— and yet a terrible one — was seen. Half a dozen Indians 
and ponies were kicking on the sward, and Gray Fox and 
his remaining braves were scurrying right and left away 
from the cabin. 

“This ain’t my doing,” cried Sergeant Jones, “and I 
won’t take the blame; remember that ” 

“Shut up!” growled Reily, with an angry disregard of 
the other’s rank. “They’ll be back again presently, men,” 
he added. “Be ready.” 

It looked so, for the baffled Sioux had swung around 
in two opposite half-circles, and were forming up near the 
foot of the slope, their faces toward the troopers. But of 
a sudden they were off on a mad gallop to the left, yell- 
ing like fiends, and brandishing their rifles in the direction 
of the cabin. 

The meaning of this unexpected flight was quickly seen. 


A Conference and an Attack. in 

As the tail end of the Indians vanished in the gloom that 
shrouded the plain the muffled clatter of hoofs were heard 
from straight in front, and over the crest of the ridge 
came a body of cavalry. 

Three minutes later Captain Norman and twenty troop- 
ers reached the cabin, to find Corporal Otis dead, Private 
Mullins shot in the arm, the young lieutenant still uncon- 
scious, and four lifeless Indians sprawled on the plain. 
The party had hurried forward as quickly as possible, 
after starting the batch of recruits to Fort Sandiman un- 
der a small escort. The body of Crooked Nose must have 
been taken off by his friends, since the troopers had seen 
nothing of him on the way. 

With a grave and troubled face, Captain Norman lis- 
tened to the thrilling story, and when it was told he could 
hardly restrain his anger. “This is a terrible night’s 
work/’ he exclaimed, “and I don’t see where it is going 
to end. The Sioux will hardly stay on their reservation 
now. The Brules will likely take the warpath, and the 
Ogallallas as well ; Gray Fox will find a ready ally in Fly- 
ing Thunder. You will probably find yourself reduced to 
the ranks for cowardice, Sergeant Jones. And you, Os- 
borne, admit to firing the first shot. Well, an investiga- 
tion will put the blame where it belongs. I fear we are 
on the eve of a bloody outbreak. 

“We must be off to the fort at once,” the captain went 
on. “There is much to be done, and not a moment to 
lose. I will ride forward with half the troop, and the rest 
will follow as soon as possible. Take good care of Lieu- 
tenant Coghill, and don’t let Harkness give you the slip. 
Bring the corporal’s body, but leave the dead Indians 
here for the present.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A SUMMONS FROM THE COLONEL. 

Fort Sandiman was in a state of thrilling- excitement 
and suspense during the next few days, and the old vet- 
erans of the post were strongly reminded of the terrible 
times that followed the massacre of Custer and his little 
army. 

Prospective hops and gayeties of all kinds were aban- 
doned ; the wives and children wore strained and anxious 
faces as they thought of the perils into which their dear 
ones might soon be plunged; the officers sat in grave 
council, and clerks and adjutants had scarcely time to 
sleep ; the telegraph wires were kept humming, and night 
and day communication was maintained with Washing- 
ton, department headquarters at Omaha, and the neigh- 
boring forts and agencies ; officers and men off on leave 
were recalled, and every train from the East brought in 
one or two of the stragglers. 

The messages that were brought into the fort by trusty 
scouts and couriers, and then wired on to Washington, 
were by no means reassuring. The Brides were still on 
their reservation, and not a brave had showed his face at 
Red Rock agency. Crooked Nose and his slain tribes- 
men had been buried with much lamentation and cere- 
mony, and now it was reported that Gray Fox was hold- 
ing councils and encouraging war dances, and that the 
lodges, tepees, and squaws were ready to be moved at a 
moment’s notice. 

Down on the Ogallalla reservation, where the famous 


A Summons from the Colonel. 113 

Flying Thunder ruled hundreds of hot-blooded warriors, 
the situation was fully as ominous. The old chief was 
more angry and sullen than ever because of the loss of 
his son and the cavalier treatment he had received from 
the Government, and it was said that he was in constant 
communication with Gray Fox. Nor was this the worst. 
A defiant and threatening attitude had suddenly devel- 
oped on all the other reservations, far and near, of the 
mighty clan of Sioux — among the Minneconjou and 
Uncapapa, the Santee and Blackfoot. 

Experienced officers and men alike read these signs 
correctly, and predicted a general and speedy outbreak, 
and one that would be hard to quell. Special significance 
was added to the situation by the fact that Flying Thun- 
der had suddenly ended his appeals to the Government, 
and that Gray Fox had neither made any further demands 
for the surrender of Harkness nor lodged complaint for 
the death of his brother and the four braves. 

So matters stood at the end of a week, and of all that 
had happened in the interval Private Osborne had been 
kept informed by his kindly disposed jailers. For, sad 
to relate, Linn had been thrown into the guard-house on 
the morning after his return to the fort, charges having- 
been preferred against him by Captain Norman. 

And there the lad still languished, in solitude and men- 
tal suffering. He felt bitterly the injustice of his treat- 
ment, but he had little hope of being vindicated and right- 
ed. The ambitious career he had marked out for himself 
seemed to have crumbled to ashes, and now, with the 
show of disgrace and punishment hanging over him, he 
felt that the future was not worth living for. It was 
terribly hard, coming just at a time when opportunities 
for promotion and active service promised to be so plenti- 
ful. 

Linn had plenty of sympathizing friends, but in the 


1 14 A Summons from the Colonel. 

daily rush of drill and preparation they did not find much 
time to think of him, or of what other things happened 
within the confines of the fort. 

Sergeant Jones was confined in a neighboring cell of 
the guard-house, waiting to be tried on charges of cow- 
ardice and failure of duty. The desperado and murderer, 
Harkness, who was at the bottom of all the trouble, was 
in the same dismal place, heavily ironed and closely 
watched. He had nothing to hope for. Trial and convic- 
tion were certain, and the shadow of a mililtary execu- 
tion — a file of grim soldiers with rifles trained on his 
breast — loomed darkly over him. 

Private Mullins was up and about with his arm in a 
sling, and Lieutenant Coghill was slowly convalescing in 
the hospital, his right arm broken in two places, and his 
skull slightly fractured. The band had played the last 
honors for Corporal Otis, and the poor fellow was at rest 
in the little cemetery on the bluff of the Missouri. 

In the face of the threatened Indian outbreak, when 
every man was needed, the new recruits had been par- 
doned for their breach of discipline, and their officers 
were working hard to lick them into shape. The young 
officer who had accompanied the batch from the South- 
west had been removed from Chamberlain to the fort, 
suffering with a badly bruised head. But he had now 
almost recovered, and it was said that he was to fill tem- 
porarily the vacancy created by Lieutenant Coghill. 

Linn’s arrest, though he did not know this, was merely 
preliminary to holding him for court-martial. It was due 
to Captain Norman’s personal dislike to the lad, or rather, 
as that officer expressed it, “to his imperative sense of 
duty.’’ 

So at the end of the week, when there was a lull in the 
alarming tidings from the reservations, the tardy inquiry 
into the history of that eventful night at Chamberlain 


A Summons from the Colonel. 115 

was held in the coloners office. There were present Col- 
onel Bromley, Major Dallas, Captain Norman, Sergeant 
Jones, and a number of the men of Troop A, including 
Private Osborne. 

Of course, the whole story came out, and as the in- 
vestigation proceeded Linn’s spirits rose. The lad's 
plucky feat in Black Mike’s saloon was graphically told by 
his friends, and the narrative brought wonder and ad- 
miration to the faces of the major and colonel, as well as 
a look that was far from being to Captain Norman’s 
taste. 

Knowing the evidence that would be arrayed against 
him, Sergeant Jones wisely concluded to make a clean 
breast of it, and his confession showed that the little 
handful of troopers had been left to their own resources 
and judgment to grapple with a deadly peril and a grave 
responsibility. 

“The question at issue is, were the men warranted in 
firing?” commented Colonel Bromley. “And I am satis- 
fied that they were. It was their duty to protect Hark- 
ness and themselves, and as the Indians plainly meant 
murder, the shooting is fully justified by the circum- 
stances. It is a most unfortunate affair, and in my opin- 
ion the burden of blame rests entirely on Harkness. The 
conduct of Sergeant Jones is a side issue, and his case 
must be held over for court-martial. 

“I see no reason for holding Private Osborne,” the 
colonel went on. “In fact, I consider his arrest unwar- 
ranted. The evidence shows that he displayed unusual 
courage and presence of mind, and he deserves commen- 
dation. He is therefore fully vindicated and discharged.” 

This was a palpable rebuke to Captain Norman, and 
that officer could not fail to see it. The investigation 
now being over, he marched stiffly from the room, after 
first darting a keen glance at Private Osborne. 


n6 A Summons from the Colonel. 

Linn did not observe this, though he recognized that 
in future he must exercise double caution and vigilance. 
He was too happy at the outcome of the investigation to 
let the captain’s' enmity weigh heavily upon his spirits; 
and after a few complimentary words from the colonel 
and the major, he hurried off to his quarters, where his 
jubilant comrades received him with hearty cheers and 
congratulations. And more than one predicted a reward 
in the near future, thereby making the lad’s cheeks burn, 
and his heart glow with pride and hope. It was a glori- 
ous ending to a most wretched day. 

On the following morning there was an unexpected 
change in the situation. From the Red Rock agency on 
the Brule reservation Gray Fox sent, by the mouth of 
the agent, a defiant message to Colonel Bromley, demand- 
ing that the murderer of Crooked Nose should be sur- 
rendered to the Sioux within forty-eight hours. 

At the same time, and from the agent of the Ogallalla 
reservation, came a somewhat similar message from Fly- 
ing Thunder — a demand that his claims against the Great 
Father in the case of Deerfoot should be recognized, and 
within the same space of time, forty-eight hours. In the 
opinion of the officers, this showed concerted action on 
the part of the two formidable chiefs, and it was confi- 
dently expected that in case the demands were refused 
immediate trouble would ensue. 

It was utterly out of the question, of course, that the 
Government would yield to either demand, nor was it 
likely that the chiefs expected favorable replies. It was 
evident to those in the fort that the crisis was at hand. 
Messengers went and came, wires hummed in all direc- 
tions, and the post commander and his staff — who alone 
held the key to the situation — grew haggard with worri- 
ment and anxiety. 

The two days of grace came and passed, and the morn- 


A Summons from the Colonel. 117 

ing of the third day dawned as calmly as its predeces- 
sors. A deep and ominous silence brooded over the fort. 
Women and children remained tearfully within doors, and 
before the quarters little groups of men talked in low 
tones. Scouts and couriers glided in and out the main 
gate, and a swarm of officers buzzed around the telegraph 
office, where the busy and alert operator sat at his post. 

Linn found the suspense very trying, and about noon, 
being off duty, he started for the sutler’s store, where he 
knew he would find some of his boon companions. His 
name was called from behind as he was crossing the 
parade ground, and turning around, he saw Sergeant 
Mull. 

“I’ve just been at your quarters, Osborne,” said the 
sergeant. “The colonel wants to see you right away. 
You’ll find him at the company office. Step lively. It’s 
something important.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


LINN MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 

Linn did not stop to ask any questions. With a salute 
to the sergeant, he hurried off, not knowing what was 
wanted of him, but nevertheless feeling decidedly uneasy. 
In the company office two clerks were writing busily at 
the dictation of Colonel Bromley and Major Dallas, and 
several other officers were talking in low tones near by. 

The colonel glanced up when the lad entered. 

“Good-morning, Corporal Osborne/’ he said. 

“Corporal, sir?” exclaimed Linn, in a bewildered tone. 

“Yes, that is your grade now, Osborne. I sent for you 
to inform you of the fact. The major and I are satisfied 
that your recent conduct entitles you to fill the vacancy 
in the troop caused by the death of poor Otis. And from 
what I hear, the appointment will be pleasing to your 
comrades. 

“According to the regular routine you could not have 
been notified so soon,” the colonel stated ; “but I have 
taken the responsibility of giving you your grade at once, 
and have sent the papers on to department headquarters 
to be certified. This unusual step is justified by the cir- 
cumstances. I trust there will be only good reports of you 
in the future.” 

“There shall be, sir,” stammered Linn. “I assure you 
of that.” 

He was fairly overcome by this unexpected mark of 
favor, and could find no words to express his gratitude, 
though he made several awkward attempts to do so. 


Linn Meets an Old Friend. 


119 


“There — that will do,” said Major Dallas. “You de- 
serve your promotion, Osborne, and I am sure you will 
make good use of it. You may be tested before long. 
You will want your chevron, of course. Report to Ser- 
geant Mull, and he will attend to the matter.” 

Linn saluted gracefully, and left the office, swelling 
with pride and joy. His brain was in a dizzy whirl as he 
crossed the parade ground. After the bitter experiences 
of the past, his good fortune seemed almost incredible. 
He could hardly realize that he had taken the first step 
upward from the ranks, and that, in spite of Captain Nor- 
man’s hostility, he was in a fair way to achieve his am- 
bitions. 

So engrossed was Linn in his own thoughts that he saw 
nothing about him, and so he nearly ran into a young of- 
ficer who had just left the hospital and started toward the 
barracks. Both stopped short, and the officer looked 
strangely at Linn. He was a tall, handsome fellow, his 
face was thin and pale, and on his forehead were two or 
three lately healed scars. 

Linn returned the glalice, and like a flash the present 
scene faded away, and all the incidents of that eventful 
night in the hotel at Harrisburg crowded into his mind. 

“Lieutenant Dimsdale!” he gasped, in astonishment. 

“By Jove! its really you, then?” cried the young officer, 
in a tone of hearty delight. “I can’t tell you how glad I 
am to meet you again, my brave fellow.” 

“He clasped Linn’s hand, and shook it warmly. 

“I have not forgotten you,” he went on. “You know 
you saved my life, Osborne, and at the risk of your own. 
But it was hardly kind of you to give me the slip before 
I could thank you. I did my best to find you. but it was 
no use.” 

“I'm sorry,” replied Linn, “but I had to leave town that 


120 


Linn Meets an Old Friend. 


morning. I saw by the paper that you were all right. 1 
would have stayed if I could ” 

“Yes, I see. It’s pretty clear why you wanted to get 
away. So you went straight off and enlisted, and I'll bet 
what I said during our conversation had a good deal to do 

with By Jove ! you’re the Osborne they’ve been 

talking about. You’re the same fellow who behaved so 
pluckily at Chamberlain, and fired the first shot at the 
Sioux out on Bull Creek. I might have guessed it.” 

“Yes, I’m the man,” admitted Linn. “I don’t think it 
was much to boast of, but I’ve just been made a- corporal 
for it.” 

“Have you, though?” cried Lieutenant Dimsdale. 
“Well, you certainly deserve it. And you’re in Troop A. 
Why, that’s my o\vn troop. I’m awfully glad of it. We’ll 
see a lot of each other in a way ” 

“You belong to Troop A?” cried Linn, a light suddenly 
breaking on him. “Then you’re the officer who brought 
the new recruits to Chamberlain, and has been laid up in 
hospital ever since? And now you are to fill Lieutenant 
( oghill’s place ?” 

“Yes, temporarily,” replied Lieutenant Dimsdale. “But 
it will be long enough to see some active service. I’m 
thinking. I would like to have a long talk with you. Os- 
borne, but I’m afraid there’s no chance of it now. One 
thing I must say, and I hope you’ll take it in good part, 
and set it down to the friendship and gratitude I feel for 
you. May I speak freely?” 

“Of course,” said Linn. 

“Well, then, Osborne, it’s just this. I see now that you 
had an object in getting me to talk about the army that 
night. You are well educated, and a gentleman, and fel- 
lows of that stamp don’t generally enlist. When they do 
it is for one of two reasons — either they get in a paternal 
row and run away from home, or thev are under a darker 


Linn Meets an Old Friend. 12 1 

cloud. What was your reason? — not the latter. I'll war- 
rant.’’ 

“I left home because my father unjustly ordered me 
away,” replied Linn, feeling- his face grow hot. “It was 
a cruel affair all through, and I don’t care to speak of it. 
But I had done nothing wrong or disgraceful — nothing 
that I need be ashamed of. I give you my word of honor 
on that. The truth will come out some day, and then I 
will tell you the whole story.” 

“I believe you, Osborne,” said Lieutenant Dimsdale. 
“Your face is evidence enough. I was sure of it from the 
first, but I thought it would be wise to mention the matter. 
When a man enlists under a cloud, and works his way up, 
it is likely to go hard with him if the truth is ever dis- 
covered. L’ve known cases of that kind. More than one 
good officer has gone to smash because of a blot on his 
earlv life. In these days, you see, the army is mighty 
particular about character.” 

This view of the matter had not occurred to Linn be- 
fore, and for a moment he could not speak. It frightened 
him to think that he might be recognized and exposed 
some day, when he had climbed high on the ladder of 
promotion, and that he might not be able to prove his in- 
nocence. But he rallied from the depression instantly, 
and consoled himself by the assurance that he had done 
no wrong, and therefore had nothing to fear. 

“My worst mistake was leaving home,” he said, after 
a pause. “I first intended to go West and look for a posi- 
tion of some sort. But I had always wanted to be a sol- 
dier, and after my talk with you I decided to enlist.” 

“I thought so,” replied Lieutenant Dimsdale, with a 
laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. “Mv friends tell me 
1 talk too much, Osborne, and 1 believe they are right. 
Had T known you were thinking of enlisting I would 
have been as mum as an oyster about the army. But T’m 


122 


Linn Meets an Old Friend. 


glad to think there’s been no harm done in this case. From 
what Fve heard lately, you seem to be the one man in a 
thousand who can work his way up from the ranks. So 
keep on as you’ve begun, and remember that you can 
count on me for all the help in my power.” 

'‘You are very kind, sir,” Linn answered. “Thank you 
from the bottom of my heart. It won’t be my fault if 1 
don’t climb higher.” 

“I owe you a heap more than I can repay,” the lieuten- 
ant resumed. “But for your bravery that night in Har- 
risburg, I wouldn’t be here now. Just a word more, Os- 
borne. The hospital steward — who is a friend of yours — 
gave me an inkling of how you stand with Captain Nor- 
man. So be on your guard constantly, and don’t leave a 
loop-hole open. Norman is a brave officer — though a 
little queer, and I think he’ll play fairly.” 

“I hope so,” replied Linn ; “but from what they say 
about him ” 

“Hush, Osborne ; no disrespect to your captain. I’m 
afraid I’ve said too much, as usual. But keep my warn- 
ing in mind, and ” 

Lieutenant Dimsdale stopped abruptly, and shaded his 
eyes with one hand as he glanced toward the telegraph 
office. 

“Look !” he exclaimed. “There’s something wrong ! It 
must be news from the front.” 

Assuredly it was. The operator was tearing for the 
company office, a sheet of yellow paper fluttering in his 
grasp. He vanished within, quickly reappeared, and tore 
back to his post. A few seconds later the colonel, the 
major and the rest of the assembled officers came swarm- 
ing out, and scattered in different directions across the 
parade ground. 

Major Dallas caught sight of Linn and the lieutenant, 
and swerved from his course to join them. 


Linn Meets an Old Friend. 123 

“Glad to see you out, Dimsdale,” he shouted. “Are 
you fit for service?” 

“By all means, sir. I was discharged this morning.” 

“Good ! Then you will join your troop at once. Every 
man is needed. Report to Norman, and send him to me. 
Take this list of rations to the quartermaster, Osborne. 
Re quick ; the call to mount will sound in a short time.” 

“Is there word from the reservations, major?” asked 
the lieutenant. 

“Plenty of it, sir,” was the snappy reply. “The Sioux 
h$ve cut the wires between here and Red Rock, and the 
Lord only knows what the red devils are up to. And down 
at the Rosebud agency Flying Thunder and a lot 
of his braves are carrying things with a high hand. 
The colonel is going to start two columns off — one 
to report at Red Rock, and the other to try to arrest 
Flying Thunder. It looks as though a general outbreak 
was imminent, but we’re going to do our best to nip it in 
the bud. It’s a late hour to begin, but that’s the fault of 
the bureau at Washington. The colonel has been jogging 
them up all week, but they wouldn’t listen to reason.” 

Growling and fussing at the tardy bureau, the major 
hurried on his way, and Linn and Lieutenant Dimsdale 
separated in opposite directions. 


CHAPTER XX. 


A MESSENGER FROM THE FRONT. 

During the short hour that followed the receipt of the 
thrilling news from the front, Colonel Bromley was the 
busiest and most deeply worried man in Fort Sandiman. 
Between brief intervals of consultation with his officers, 
he sent message after message in different directions, and 
kept the telegraph operator working at a tremendous pres- 
sure. 

What was happening at Red Rock agency could only be 
conjectured, but none doubted that the cutting of the 
wires had been done by the Sioux, and that the deed had 
some sinister and treacherous motive. In all likelihood, 
an attack was contemplated on the agency itself, and that 
would mean the loss of the supplies and rations stored 
there, and possibly the slaughter of the agent, his family, 
and employees. Gray Fox was fully capable of going to 
extremes in his passion. 

The news from the Rosebud agency, which was some 
forty miles to the southwest of the fort, was readily to be 
understood and dealt with. Specified in detail, as the 
agent had wired, it was to the effect that Flying Thunder 
and about fifty of his braves were hovering around the 
agency, indulging in fiery speeches, drunken orgies and 
hostile demonstrations, and making themselves trouble- 
some and dangerous. More than that, they had cruelly 
killed a friendly Cheyenne in the employ of the agent. 

Colonel Bromley realized that prompt action was neces- 
sary. Much against his will, he had held off a week in 


125 


A Messenger from the Front. 

the face of the constantly growing- peril, and now that the 
War Department had wakened up to the situation, he pro- 
posed to waste no more time. At heart he was more 
than half convinced that the delay was irretrievable, and 
that what could be done now would not check the out- 
break. 

But he resolved to do his best, and as a first step he or- 
dered three troops of the Seventh Cavalry to the relief 
of Red Rock agency, fully equipped for long and active 
field service. He also wired to the commander of Fort 
Bennet — which was forty miles noffh of Red Rock, on 
the upper Missouri — asking that a detachment of cavalry 
be sent down there to join the detachment from Fort San- 
diman. If this plan worked all right, Gray Fox and his 
braves would be hemmed in between two forces, and 
might be brought to see the folly of his conduct. This 
was unlikely, however, and the main object of the move 
was to protect the agency. 

The colonel proposed to deal with Rosebud agency in a 
different fashion. He knew that Flying Thunder was a 
far more powerful chief than Gray Fox, and that the lat- 
ter was counting on the support of his formidable ally. 
The chances were ten to one that Gray Fox, if deprived of 
this support, could be easily subdued and brought to 
terms. 

So, relying on the fact that Flying Thunder was accom- 
panied by only fifty of his warriors, the colonel deter- 
mined to get possession of that dangerous chief and hold 
him as a hostage for the good behavior of his tribe. He 
ordered two troops of the Seventh to ride in haste to 
Rosebud agency, and accomplish the arrest of Flying 
Thunder, if possible by craft, otherwise by force of arms. 

The colonel had not been blind to the possibility that a 
large band of the Ogallalla Sioux might be in hiding in 


126 A Messenger from the Front. 

the vicinity of the agency, and that Flying Thunder’s 
small escort was only a ruse to lure a detachment of troops 
from Fort Sandiman, and at one and the same time de- 
stroy the soldiers and capture the agency. 

Indeed, he had thought of this the moment when the. 
telegram arrived, but when he put the question -before his 
advising officers — most of whom were w r ell versed in In- 
dian craft and were veterans of many a frontier fight — 
they scouted the idea, and refused to credit Flying Thun- 
der with any such murderous intention. So the orders 
were allowed to stand as first issued, since, while the 
colonel was not convinced, he had not a sufficient force at 
his command to act otherwise. 

In addition to the above, other and more extensive plans 
were made tor grappling with the emergency. Full re- 
ports were sent to W ashington, to all the agents on the 
Dakota reservations, to Fort Niobrara down in Nebraska, 
and to the scattered forts far to the westward of the Bad 
Lands, where the Sioux would likely flee in case of a gen- 
eral outbreak. 

It was a busy hour at headquarters and in the telegraph 
office, and meanwhile every part of the fort presented a 
scene of stirring activity and commotion. The note of 
bugles mingled with the tap of drums, and several com- 
panies of infantry shared the bustle of preparation with 
the cavalrymen. Colonel Banks, the regimental com- 
mander and vice-commander of the post, had an idea that 
some of his men would be ordered to march to one or an- 
other of the agencies, and he was bound to be ready in 
time. 

In and out of barracks swarmed the eager troopers and 
officers, fittingly garbed in fatigue uniforms — loose trous- 
ers and jackets of blue, high boots and gray slouch hats. 


127 


A Messenger from the Front. 

There was a lively polishing of arms and accoutrements, 
and a hasty scribbling of letters home. The stables rang 
with clatter of hoofs and shrill neighing, as many hands 
saddled and bridled the impatient steeds for the march. 

In the quartermaster’s department half a dozen men 
dealt out rations of hard tack and flour, coffee and beans, 
to be stowed away in countless haversacks. Ammunition 
was freely distributed, and belts were loaded with ball 
cartridges. A swarm of troopers invested the sutler’s 
store, within and without, clamoring for pipes and 
matches, packets of smoking tobacco and thick plugs of 
black navy. From end to end of the officers’ quarters 
there were low weeping and fond embraces, as wives and 
children bade farewell to the loved ones who were start- 
ing on what would likely prove to be a long and danger- 
ous campaign. 

There were plenty of passive on-lookers within the con- 
fines of the fort — troopers and infantrymen who were not 
under marching orders, and therefore envied their more 
fortunate comrades; packers and teamsters waiting for a 
chance to load the big wagons that would shortly follow 
with supplies after the flying columns ; newspaper corre- 
spondents, who had been drawn to the scene from distant 
towns, as buzzards scent the location of distant carrion : 
scouts under orders to accompany the forces, and unat- 
tached scouts in quest of appointments ; grizzled couriers 
rolling quids of tobacco in their mouths, and women and 
children whose dear ones were not to leave for the pres- 
ent. 

At one o’clock, half an hour after the receipt of the tid- 
ings, three skilled telegraph linemen started north with 
an escort of ten troopers. Their instructions were to find 
the break in the wire, re-open communication as quickly 


128 A Messenger from the Front. 

as possible, and then await the arrival of the column for 
Red Rock. 

just an hour later the five cliosen troops of the Seventh 
started. Hearty cheers followed them as they rode on a 
trot out the western gate of the fort, their guidons flutter- 
ing to the breeze, the trumpets pealing, and the Septem- 
ber sun glistening on carbines and brass buttons. There 
was no prouder or happier man in the force than Linn, as 
he sat stiffly erect in the saddle, his heart bounding with 
anticipation, and the corporal’s chevron — the badge of his 
promotion — sewed on his jacket. 

Shortly beyond the fort the column divided into two 
battalions, and separated with a brief exchange of good 
wishes and farewells. The three troops under Major 
Dallas — of which Troop A was one — galloped off on their 
long ride of thirty miles to Red Rock agency. The two 
other troops, commanded by the senior captain, Chal- 
mers, headed southwest for the forty-mile jaunt to Rose- 
bud, where Flying Thunder was to be taken prisoner bv 
force or craft. Moving rapidly on the widely diverging 
lines of a triangle, the two columns were soon out of sight 
and hearing of each other. 

The northbound battalion had the shorter ride, but the 
graver mission, and Major Dallas was aware of this fact. 
He spurred on at a steady gallop, occasionally unslinging 
his field-glasses to scan the horizon. Men and horses 
were in prime condition, many months having elapsed 
since they had seen arduous service, and for hour after 
hour the column thundered untiringly over the rolling 
and sage-covered plain. 

Troop A took the lead, and with Major Dallas at the 
head of the battalion rode two of the bravest and most 
skilled of the frontier scouts — Jim Akers and Bob Lovv- 
ther. There were also attached to the party a surgeon, a 


A Messenger from the Front. 


129 


small ambulance corps and three experienced farriers. 
Linn rode in ranks with his men, and Lieutenant Dims- 
dale hovered near enough to keep up a straggling conver- 
sation with the lad. 

About the middle of the afternoon, when a point half- 
way between the fort and the agency had been reached, 
the column overtook the advance detachment, and was re- 
lieved to find the little party safe. They had discovered a 
pole down, and the wire cut in two places. No Indians 
being about, they at once started in to repair the break, 
and had just completed the work when the battalion hove 
in sight. 

From the marks of ponies’ hoofs on the sand and turf — 
signs which were easy reading for the two scouts — it ap- 
peared that the damage had been done by less than a 
score of Indians, and that the marauders had fled in a 
westerly direction instead of toward the agency. 

“We can’t tell what’s up,” said Major Dallas, as he or- 
dered the trumpeter to sound the advance. “It may be 
onlv a bit of mischief, and then again, the rogues may 
have joined a larger force and pushed on to the agency. 
It’s the safest plan to lose no time, now that communica- 
tion is opened again.” 

The bugle sounded, and the battalion filed on over the 
dusty plain. It did not move quite so rapidly as before, 
for this was the hottest part of the day, and there had 
been no rain for weeks, and the scorching September sun 
began to tell a little on men and horses. 

But at last the red ball of fire dropped behind the west- 
ern hill-tops, and with the twilight came a cool and grate- 
ful air. Half an hour later darkness had fallen, and now 
Red Rock agency was only four miles away. Just aheaci 
lay a ridge, and as the troopers jogged up to the summit 
they heard three or four rifle shots ring faintly through 
the night. 


130 A Messenger from tlie Front. 

In the brief stillness that ensued a solitary horse came 
clattering up the farther slope of the ridge, and an in- 
stant later a thrilling spectacle loomed into view in the 
gloom — a jaded and panting steed, and in the saddle a 
swaying, blood-stained man, who had scarcely any 
strength to pull up in front of Major Dallas. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE BATTAUON AT THE AGENCY. 

“Good heavens! it’s Calder!” cried the major, recogniz- 
ing the right-hand man of Triscott, the agent at Red 
Rock. 

He and Akers dismounted in a trice and sprang to op- 
posite sides of the poor fellow in time to catch him as he 
reeled from the saddle. He sank limply into their arms, 
but as soon as they let him to the ground he made a strong 
effort to sit up. 

“Thank God! I’ve found help!” he exclaimed, hoarse- 
ly. “It’s you, Major Dallas, is it? I can’t see just right, 
but I thought I knew your voice. Push on to the agency 
— don’t waste a minute. They’ve been fighting since 
noon, and they’re at it now.” 

“Fighting?” demanded the major. “Is it that bad?” 

“It couldn’t be much worse, sir,” answered the man. 
“There are three hundred of the red devils under Gray 
Fox, and they’ve plundered the store-houses and the 
trader’s store, and tried their best to break into the agent’s 
house ” 

“How did you get away?” the major asked, hurriedly. 
“And when?” 

“I made a dash for it about half-past three o’clock, 
when the Indians had drawn off a bit,” replied Calder. 
“They fired at me and hit me in the arm. I kept on for a 
couple of miles, and then I must have fainted from loss of 
blood and slipped out of the saddle. The next thing I 
knew it was dark and I was lying back here in the grass, 


132 The Battalion at the Agency. 

with my faithful horse standing close by. My wound 
had closed up, and after taking a pull at a flask I was able 
to mount and ride on. I reckoned I might meet a relief 
party on the way from the fort. But don't stop here, sir. 
You’re needed badly ” 

“All right, my brave fellow,” interposed the major; 
“we’ll waste no time. You say you left about half-past 
three. That was before the wire was mended and com- 
munication opened. Triscott knew several hours ago 
that we were coming, and I daresay he’ll manage to hold 
out.” 

“He couldn’t have known, sir,” replied the messenger, 
“for the office and other buildings had to be abandoned. 
The whole party are shut up in the agent’s house.” 

The major gave a low whistle. He would have liked to 
ask more questions, but the urgency of the situation for- 
bade it. So he sent Calder to the rear and promptly gave 
the command to start. 

The column advanced on a gallop, and the ambulance 
corps, which had taken charge of the wounded man, 
found it hard work to keep up. The force was large 
enough to cope with the number of Indians Calder had 
estimated, for the linemen and their cavalry escort had 
been attached to the three troops. The men were all in 
good spirits, and eager for a fight, and Major Dallas knew 
they could be depended upon. 

As the flying hoofs traversed the prairie an intermittent 
rifle-fire was heard from in front, telling that the agent 
and his people were still resisting an attack. One mile 
was quickly passed— two — three. Now the firing was 
louder and more rapid, and from the crest of a ridge, sev- 
eral hundred yards in front, the battalion would come in 
view of the scene. 

“It’s a rare thing for Indians to continue an assault 


The Battalion at the Agency. 133 

after dark,” said the. major. “I can’t understand what it 
means.” 

“It means that the red devils have glutted themselves 
with the trader’s bad whisky, sir,” replied Bob Lowther, 
the elder of the two scouts, “and naturally they don’t 
make any difference betwixt day and night.” 

“That’s about it,” assented the major. “We’ll soon be 
there now.” 

Up the long slope of the ridge clattered the column, 
every man peering ahead and listening to the rattle of car- 
bines and the burst of demoniac yells that now filled the 
air. Linn felt a wild thrill of excitement, but no sensa- 
tion of fear. In the struggle that seemed imminent he 
was determined to play a plucky part, and even the near- 
by presence of Captain Norman could not shatter his 
bright hopes of fame and promotion. 

“It looks as though we are in for it, Osborne,” said 
Lieutenant Dimsdale, as he spurred his horse alongside of 
the lad. “This will be somewhat different from the row 
in Chamberlain and the fight on Bull Creek. Don’t lose 
your head.” 

“I won’t, sir,” promised Linn. “I feel as cool as a cu- 
cumber.” 

The lieutenant nodded approvingly, and just then the 
head of the battalion rode over the crest of the ridge. 
There was now a level space stretching ahead for some 
distance to the beginning of the opposite slope, and when 
the front ranks reached the latter point Major Dallas rode 
a little to one side and gave the signal to halt by lifting his 
hand. 

The column instantly stood still, stretching in a quiet 
black mass across the level top of the ridge. Its presence 
was unsuspected by the rabid band of Sioux in the near 
vicinity, but every man of the troopers could see down to 
the foot of the slope. 


134 The Battalion at the Agency. 

There, a third of a mile away, a bunch of lights flick- 
ered in the blackness of the night. A strange medley of 
sounds echoed far and near — the screech and whoop of 
savage voices, the bang of carbines and pistols, and the 
restless patter of ponies’ hoofs. 

‘.‘What next, sir?” inquired Akers. 

“A charge, I fancy, replied the major. “I hoped there 
would be some fires blazing to show me the strength of the 
enemy. They may have been reinforced since Cal- 
der ” 

As he spoke the yelling rose to a higher pitch, and sud- 
denly a little tongue of flame leaped into view. It soared 
higher and higher, and it was quickly seen that one of the 
out-buildings was on fire. The red glare revealed the 
cluster of houses and sheds nestled in the corral, the main 
gate standing wide open, and hundreds of dusky, mounted 
figures gliding to and fro within and without the stock- 
ade. 

Not a sound escaped the well-trained troopers as they 
looked and listened, waiting impatiently for the word to 
advance. Linn’s heart leaped into his throat, and with 
tingling hands he half drew his carbine out of its holster. 

“There are more than thr^e hundred Indians,” said the 
major, in a low tone. “What do you think, Lowther?” 

“I should say double that number, sir,” replied the 
scout. 

“My opinion,” assented the major. “Well, I think we 
can scatter them like prairie chickens. In the darkness 
they’ll be sure to over-estimate our force.” 

“Norman,” he added, calling that officer to his side, “I’m 
going to advance on a gallop at full speed, and we’ll do a 
lot of yelling, and keep the bugles sounding at a lively 
rate. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Gray Fox and his 
braves will take to the plain before we are half way down 
the slope, and that will give us a chance to enter the corral 


The Battalion at the Agency. 135 

and close the gate. There is to be no firing unless in case 
of absolute necessity. Remember that.” 

These orders were quickly communicated to the troop 
commanders, and by them to the men. As Major Dal- 
las gave the word to charge, the shrill blast of bugles 
blended with a burst of cheers, £nd down the slope thun- 
dered the whole battalion six abreast, making noise 
enough for ten times the number. 

The effect was almost instantaneous. The Indians 
were taken by surprise, nor were they so intoxicated as 
not to realize their peril. By the light of the burning 
building the mounted braves were seen pouring in con- 
fusion out of the corral, and by the time the cavalry were 
two-thirds down the slope the whole band had vanished 
right and left in the darkness that shrouded the surround- 
ing plain. 

But the true cunning and craft of the Sioux were yet to 
be proved. As the battalion reached the foot of the slope 
a ready-prepared heap of dried grass burst into flame 
close by, and the brave who had ignited it sped away for 
dear life. Half a dozen carbines cracked, and the rogue 
fell headlong before he had taken ten steps. 

But the mischief was already done. The brief spurt 
of the flame had revealed the true strength of the troopers 
to the enemy, and as the column galloped on hundreds of 
yelling Indians closed in on it from the rear. 

It meant annihilation to stop, and the brisk fire of the 
Sioux was answered by the rear guard of the troopers, 
who let fly volley after volley as they turned in their sad- 
dles. On swept the battalion, horses and men crowding 
pell-mell through the stockade gate. 

File after file dismounted as quickly as it arrived, and 
a score of brave fellows led bv Major Dallas and the two 
scouts — Linn included in the number — dashed back to 
cover the retreat. In hot haste and confusion the closely- 


136 The Battalion at the Agency. 

pressed rear guard poured into the corral, more than one 
steed running riderless, and right at their heels came a 
rabid and whooping horde of Sioux. 

But the relief party was on the spot, and lined up on 
each side of the gateway. Others were struggling for- 
ward from behind through the rout, and as the last 
mounted trooper galloped into the corral Major Dallas 
gave a loud command to fire. A score of rifles flashed 
and cracked, and a volley of lead was rained into the hud- 
dled ranks of the foe. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A QUIET NIGHT. 

That volley saved the battalion and all the other in- 
mates of the corral. It checked the mad rush barely in 
time, and through the gaps of the powder smoke, stained 
red by the glare of the burning building, the foremost In- 
dians were seen to fall dead or wounded from the saddle, 
while frightened ponies reared and pranced, darted this 
way and that. 

Those behind wavered an instant, checked by the rain 
of bullets and the obstructing bodies. Then they came 
on with blood-curdling yells, only to find themselves too 
late. In a voice that rang clear above the din Major Dal- 
las shouted : 

“Close the gate, men — quick !” 

Led by Corporal Osborne, a dozen troopers seized the 
heavy framework of timbers, swung it shut in the very 
faces of the desperate Sioux, and dropped the massive 
bars into place. The air rang with screams of baffled 
rage and the crack of dozens of rifles. For a few mo- 
ments bullets pattered thickly on the stout beams, and 
then the foe sullenly withdrew to a short distance. 

The danger was not yet over, and had the confusion 
lasted a short time longer the Sioux might have accom- 
plished a bloody massacre. But the major was equal to 
the emergency, and by prompt action he restored order, 
and secured the safety of those under his command and 
protection. 

Trumpeter Grant was at his elbow, and as the bugle 


138 A Quiet Night. 

sounded -the order to dismount, all of the battalion who 
yet remained in the saddle leaped to the ground. A whole 
troop was speedily detailed for defense, and with loaded 
rifles the men lined up at the loopholes and platforms that 
were to be found on all four sides of the corral. 

The Sioux were still hovering about the front of the 
stockade and the two end walls, whooping and firing, and 
evidently meditating an attack in force. With cool and 
deliberate aim the troopers shot into the midst of the band, 
and at the first straggling volley the Indians made off into 
the darkness. 

Meanwhile, a dozen men under Sergeant Mull had at- 
tacked the burning building, which was merely a small 
shed used for storing wood and coal. Some battered 
down , the blazing planks, while others brought pails of 
water from the well. The fire was soon under control 
and beyond the power of spreading. 

By this time quiet and order were fully restored. The 
troopers guarding the stockade stood watchfully at their 
posts, the ambulance corps was attending to the wounded, 
and the horses were picketed in the stables and in the rear 
part of the corral. 

The little party had sallied out of the agent’s house, 
which had stood so gallant a siege with its iron shutters 
and heavy door. The rescued ones comprised the eight 
or nine employees of the agency, with their wives and 
children^ and the latter cried for joy as they found them- 
selves in safety, and surrounded by the blue-clad sol- 
diers ; more than one strong man had tears in his eyes. 

Major Dallas came forward from a round of the stock- 
ade, and shook hands with Triscott, the agent. The lat- 
ter was a tall, powerful man, and not wanting in bravery, 
but his nerves had been thoroughly unstrung by his late 
experiences. His face was pale and haggard, and his lips 
twitched constantly. 


A Quiet Night. 139 

“Glad to see you, major,” he said. “I hear you met 
Calder half-way. He brought you just in the nick of 
time, for the Indians had fired yonder shed, and were 
about to begin on the quarters.” 

“How did it happen?” the major asked, sternly. 

He was inwardly in a fuming rage, and felt sure there 
had been negligence somewhere. 

“How did it happen?” Triscott repeated. “Well, I 
hardly know myself, sir, though I’m not to blame. The 
Sioux slipped into the corral by twos and threes, letting 
on they wanted to parley. Then of a sudden they went 
wild, and broke into the storehouse and the trader’s store. 
It was no use to argue with them, and I didn’t dare to 
open fire. So I got all my party into the house, and made 
ready the rifles and ammunition. 

“And it was well I did, sir. You see, I knew by the 
wires being down that trouble was intended. The braves 
gutted the trader’s store, and carried off all the rations 
somewhere back in the hills. Then, being full of rum, 
they did their best to storm the house and get our scalps. 
We had a lively time before Calder left, and a livelier one 
afterward. We killed a lot of the rascals, but none of my 
men are seriously hurt.” 

“My liquor and other goods are all gone, sir,” inter- 
posed the trader. “It was shameful the way the Sioux 
wasted the stuff. I shall look to the Government to make 
up the loss.” 

“The Government will have considerable investigating 
to do, my man,” snapped the major. “Rest assured of 
that. And I think the inquiry will begin with you, Tris- 
cott. Had the gate been closed and barred, and your men 
been at their posts, not an Indian could have entered the 
corral. You could have stood them off until we arrived. 
There, that will do. I don’t want to hear a word now.” 

The interview ended thus abruptly. With uneasiness 


140 


A Quiet Night. 

and wrath in their hearts, Triscott and the trader slouched 
off toward the house, while the major and some of his offi- 
cers started in to investigate the situation and reckon the 
damage. 

In addition to the agent’s residence, the stockade in- 
closed a row of quarters for his men and their families, a 
little school-house, the stables, the store-house, the 
trader’s store, and the telegraph office. The ktter place 
was first visited, in company with the operator, but his 
tap at the instrument brought no reply. 

“I didn’t expect any answer,” he explained. “There 
has been no communication all day.” 

“You were not in a condition to know that, sir,” replied 
the major, “since you were all shut up in the house for a 
number of hours. But it is likely that the wires were cut 
close by here as well as midway to the fort. So we can’t 
communicate with Colonel Bromley.” 

“What are we going to do about it?” asked Captain 
Norman. 

“We can’t do anything at present,” answered the major. 
“I believe troops from Fort Bennet have been ordered 
here, and they will likely arrive, by morning. Then we 
can send out a large enough force to repair the line, and 
as soon as that is done we will receive instructions. The 
Indians will keep a close watch to-night, or I would try 
to get a messenger through at once.” 

From the telegraph office the major’s party passed on 
to the trader’s store. It was found gutted, barrels of 
liquor having been wantonly spilled over the floor. The 
big store-house close by was quite empty — stripped of the 
vast supplies of rations it had contained, and which would 
now permit the Sioux to take the war-path with full 
stomachs assured for the future. 

An inquiry was next made into the number killed and 
wounded. Seven dead Indians lay in the close vicinity 


A Quiet Night. 141 

of the agent’s house, and two of Triscott’s party were 
found to have been shot more or less seriously. Five men 
of the battalion had been wounded by the fire of the 
charging Sioux, and three had failed to come into the 
corral. 

As the enemy were probably at a distance, Major Dal- 
las determined to recover the bodies of the missing ones — 
for he was satisfied that the poor fellows were dead. 
Fowther, the scout, slipped out the gate to reconnoitre 
and returned in five minutes to report that the coast was 
clear in the immediate vicinity. 

Half a dozen men then went out, and in a short time 
they were back with the scalped and mutilated bodies of 
the three troopers. They reported seeing at least a dozen 
dead Indians on the ground. More than one desperate 
oath of vengeance was sworn as the lifeless forms of the 
three cavalrymen were carried past their comrades to the 
store-house and there stretched out under blankets. 

By the command of Major Dallas, the Sioux who had 
fallen in the siege of the house were deposited outside the 
stockade. He knew that some time during the darkness 
of the night Gray Fox and his braves would likely find a 
way to remove their killed. 

Meanwhile a hearty supper had been served out to the 
weary troopers and their more weary steeds, and by mid- 
night the men were -sleeping peacefully around the little 
camp-fires that dotted the corral from end to end. The 
school-house had been .turned into a hospital, and here 
Calder and the other wounded lay on hastily improvised 
cots, their needs attended to by the surgeon and his as- 
sistants. Behind the four walls of the stockade the alert 
troopers — a force that had lately relieved the first guard — 
stood watch and ward against the hundreds of Sioux who 
were bivouacked on the neighboring hills. 

Few sounds were heard save the restless champing of 


142 


A Quiet Night. 

the staked horses, the occasional turning of a slumbering 
soldier, a groan of pain from the hospital, or the muf- 
fled tread of a sentry pacing his round of duty. 

Major Dallas had taken possession of the telegraph of- 
fice for his headquarters, and here he held a long and 
secret consultation with his officers. The latter finally de- 
parted to seek their blankets and sleeping quarters, but 
there was no rest for the major. He started out on a 
round of the corral, and then wandered to and fro among 
his men. 

Linn was dozing by one of the fires of Troop A, his 
blanket wrapped partly around him, and his rifle clutched 
in one hand. A tap on the shoulder roused him and 
brought him to his feet. He looked up to meet his com- 
mander’s kindly glance. 

“Have you slept long?” asked the major. 

^ “I think I have, sir,” replied Linn. “I feel much re- 
freshed. Is anything wrong?” 

“No; all is well. I had my eye on you this evening, 
Osborne, and I am pleased with your conduct. I am go- 
ing to give you some new duties for the present — while 
we remain at the agency. I want you to act as my clerk. 
I have sprained two fingers of my right hand and can’t 
easily write.” 

“I am at your service, sir,” said Linn, as he followed 
the major to the telegraph office. He sat down at a table, 
with pencil, paper and a lighted lamp before him, and for 
two hours he wrote steadily and rapidly as Major Dallas 
dictated several long dispatches. Then, with well-earned 
commendation, he returned to his post at the fire. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE NEWS EROM ROSEBUD. 

The night passed without alarm, and the cool, gray 
dawn brought relief to many an anxious heart. Up over 
the dry and parched prairie crept the red September sun, 
and another day had begun its course. By eight o’clock 
men and officers had breakfasted and were attending to 
their various duties as calmly as though they were at the 
fort. 

At his headquarters in the telegraph office sat Major 
Dallas, looking as spruce and fresh as though he had not 
missed the greater part of the night’s sleep. Linn was 
there in his new and proud capacity of clerk. The opera- 
tor lounged at his desk, smoking a clay pipe and tamper- 
ing with the useless instruments. Officers and agency 
employees passed in and out, some to make reports, others 
to ask instructions. 

The major listened gravely to what meagre information 
was brought him. The dead Indians had been removed 
under cover of the night, and now the whole band of 
Sioux occupied the hill-slopes to the westward, a good 
mile from the agency. At present they did not seem 
disposed to make trouble. A field-glass showed the 
braves squatted in long lines on the grass, and the staked 
ponies feeding near by. 

The wounded within the agency were all doing well, 
and had fair chances of recovery. The three dead troop- 
ers still lay in the school-house. Rude boxes were being 
made for them, but it was hoped that they might be buried 
in the cemetery at the fort, instead of in this lonely spot. 


144 


The News from Rosebud. 


Gray Fox evinced no desire to have a talk with the sol- 
diers of the Great Father, and the major was not disposed 
to open negotiations. He felt that it would be useless, 
and not without sound reason. At daybreak a friendly 
Cheyenne in Triscott’s service had come safely into the 
agency. He had been out for nearly two days in the up- 
per part of the Brule reservation, and he reported that the 
Indian lodges, with the squaws, children and old men, had 
vanished mysteriously toward the west. This showed 
pretty clearly that Gray Fox was ready and resolved to 
take the war-path, and that it would not be worth while 
to hold any communication with him. 

Major Dallas was more worried and anxious than he 
chose to let appear. He had dispatches written, but dared 
not start a messenger out with them. There was no sign 
as yet of the expected reinforcements, and he realized the 
importance of opening connection with the fort. This 
would enable him to learn if troops had been sent from 
Fort Bennet, and would give him instructions from 
Colonel Bromley. He would also be advised of what was 
taking place on the Rosebud agency — a matter that caused 
him considerable uneasiness. It was his private opinion 
-^-and his officers shared it — that a long and bloody Indian 
war had about commenced. 

Meanwhile, the major had taken prompt steps to estab- 
lish communication with Fort Sandimaru After break- 
fast he sent a party of half a dozen out to reconnoitre the 
line. They went no further than a deep ravine a quarter 
of a mile to the southwestward of the corral, where they 
found the wires broken and three poles down. 

They returned at once to report, and shortly afterward 
several linemen went to the spot in care of twenty armed 
troopers. This party was hard at work by nine o’clock, 
whilfe the major sat attending to business at headquarters. 
He was beset by fears that the Indians would swoop down 


The News from Rosebud. 145 

on the brave fellows, or that the line might prove to be 
broken at other points. 

But with the exception of a thin skirmish line of braves, 
who fired harmlessly from a distance at the workmen and 
their escort, the Sioux made no hostile demonstrations. 
They plainly had other matters to think about, for now 
more bands of Indians were beginning to pour in from 
the reservation to the north. They came steadily on for 
an hour, and by ten o’clock it was evident that the whole 
tribe of Brules was assembled. In the opinion of the 
scouts the force numbered close upon fifteen hundred. 

About this time the major’s face grew haggard, and he 
was in a fever of anxiety. The messages brought him 
bv the watchers at the stockade indicated that the situa- 
tion was critical. In all likelihood a general attack was 
to be made on the agency, and the working party would 
be driven in before communication could be opened. 

Over the office was a watch-tower that rose above the 
level of the corral walls, and in order to get a view for 
himself the major mounted this, accompanied by several 
officers, Linn, and the operator. They arrived in time to 
see a strange and perplexing thing. Over the ridge to the 
south came two mounted Indians on a gallop. They rode 
into the thick of the assembled Brules, and by the aid of a 
glass they could be made out talking earnestly to Gray 
Fox. 

A moment later there was widespread confusion and 
bustle, the ponies were unstaked, and the hundreds of 
braves sprang to the saddle. Led by Gray Fox, the head 
of the column rode slantingly up the hill, and turned 
southwestward down the opposite slope. In five minutes 
all had vanished — not a brave was in sight. 

“Thank Heaven ! the line is safe !” exclaimed Captain 
Norman. “They are riding away from it, and away from 
their reservation as well. But what can the move mean ?” 


146 The News from Rosebud. 

“I would give much to know,” the major gravely re- 
plied. “Unless my glass deceived me, the messengers 
were Ogallallas. They must have brought some word 
from Flying Thunder.” 

Before more could be said the little party on the tower 
were startled to hear the sharp blast of a trumpet from a 
distant point in the rear. Turning around toward the 
north, they beheld a welcome sight — a column of cavalry 
winding down a hill-slope half a mile away. 

Troop after troop appeared on the crest, until ten had 
been counted. With blast of bugles and flying colors, and 
glitter and flash of arms, the battalion filed down to the 
plain on the eastern side of the corral, and there dis- 
mounted with orderly precision. Loud cheering arose 
from those in the agency. 

The watch-tower was hurriedly abandoned, and a min- 
ute later Major Dallas and Major Carter of Fort Bennet 
met in a hearty handshake at the open gate of the stock- 
ade. What there was to tell was soon told. The ten 
troops had left Fort Bennet at midnight, and up to that 
time no news of importance had been received from Fort 
Sandiman. 

“I’m glad you came, Carter,” said Major Dallas. “But 
the Sioux are gone, and I have no idea where. It was 
not your approach that started them off, for they knew 
nothing of it. The line is nearly repaired, I trust, and 
then we shall learn ” 

As he spoke there was an eager shout from the stock- 
ade, and in through the gate poured the linemen and their 
es:ort. The two majors and a dozen other officers rushed 
to the telegraph office, where Linn and the operator were 
in a state of vast excitement. 

“The line is open, sir,” cried the latter, whose hand was 
on the key. “I just got the signal.” 


The News from Rosebud. 147 

‘‘Thank Heaven !” exclaimed Major Dallas. “Now give 
them this message, Tenney be quick/’ 

In rapid tones he dictated a brief dispatch, outlining 
what had happened at the agency, and telling of the with- 
drawal of the Brules on the arrival of the two supposed 
Ogallalla messengers. He added the information that the 
battalion from Fort Bennet had just arrived and asked for 
instructions. 

The operator wired the message as it was* dictated, and 
after that there was a brief pause. Then the call was 
sounded and the instrument began to click at a lively 
rate. Tenney was a skilled telegrapher, and as the words 
were flashed to him by the operator at Fort Sandiman he 
repeated them aloud as follows : 

“To Major Dallas, Red Rock agency. Your advices 
received. Glad to find the line open again. The line to 
Rosebud has been cut since four o’clock yesterday after- 
noon, but two couriers have just arrived from there. 
They report the treacherous massacre of Captain Chal- 
mers, two officers and eleven privates, while holding a 
truce with Flying Thunder. The Indians fired without 
warning, and at close range. Our men returned the fire, 
and retreated to the corral. They are supposed to be in 
a state of siege. The massacre occurred earh' last even- 
ing.” 

Tenney leaned back in his chair, his face ghastly pale. 
Major Dallas groaned alcud, and then the little room 
echoed with exclamations of pity and grief, and hoarse 
vows of vengeance. Amid the tumult, Tenney lifted his 
hand with a gesture of silence. 

“More word?” Major Dallas asked, hoarsely. 

“Yes, here it is.” 

The operator leaned r orward, his hand on the key, and 
read out slowly, as before : 

“From Colonel Bromley to Major Dallas. Communi- 


The News from Rosebud. 


148 

cation just opened with Rosebud. Flying Thunder and 
nearly two thousand braves left at midnight toward the 
northwest. It is supposed they will connect at an angle 
with Gray Fox and his band, and make for the Bad Lands 
together. These are your orders. Bury the dead, leave 
one of the troops from Fort Bennet at the agency, and 
with the remaining force — which you will assume sole 
command of — start before evening for the junction of 
White River a*n*d Black Pipe Creek. At this rendezvous 
you will be joined by the two troops from Rosebud, and 
possibly by some from Fort Niobrara. There you will 
also be met by a courier with instructions, and by supply 
wagons. The field column under your command will 
likely push after the foe, and If possible they will be 
headed off from in front. Lose no time, and report when 
you start.” 

A moment later the operator was alone at his post, and 
the bustle of preparation filled the corral. There was no 
mistaking the news. It meant that the campaign had act- 
ually begun, and that Uncle Sam had a big contract on 
hand. 

The point of rendezvous was off to the westward, about 
thirty-five miles distant from both the Rosebud and Red 
Rock agencies. It was a long ride, and Major Dallas 
wisely allowed the force from Fort Bennet several hours’ 
rest. But by four o’clock the bugles sounded, and word 
was flashed to Fort Sandiman. A little later the twelve 
troops rode out of the corral, and vanished over the ridge 
from the view of those left behind. 

The rendezvous was reached several hours after mid- 
night, and the battalion went into camp. At daybreak 
the scouts reported that Grav Fox and Flying Thunder 
had joined forces in the near vicinity during the previous 
eyening, and had pushed on to the west. This was indi- 
cated by signs on the ground. 


The News from Rosebud. 149 

Before noon the survivors of the two troops from Rose- 
bud arrived, and had a stirring tale to tell of the massacre 
and the subsequent fight and siege. Captain McClellan 
was in command. Late in the day four troops from Fort 
Niobrara reached the rendezvous, having marched a long 
distance in a wonderfully short time, and shortly after- 
ward came a small wagon train from Fort Sandiman, and 
a courier with orders from Colonel Bromley. These were 
brief and to the point. The Indians were to be pursued 
with unflagging zeal, and overtaken, if possible, before 
they could reach the Bad Lands. 

That night the field column under Major Dallas — now 
sixteen troops strong — slept peacefully at the junction of 
the two streams. At daybreak they were off on the In- 
dian trail, every man well provided with ammunition and 
rations. And Corporal Osborne, as he rode with his 
troop, made a vow that it would not be his fault if he 
failed to win a higher grade in the coming campaign. 
Had he known what was before him his reflections would 
have been as gloomy as they now were bright. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A MYSTERIOUS COEUMN OF SMOKE. 

The narrative of the battalion’s march for six days 
after leaving the rendezvous could hardly be called a cam- 
paign, nor would it afford interesting reading. The two 
great tribes of Sioux, under Gray Fox and Flying Thun- 
der, played the same tricky game they had played so often 
before. In widely scattered parties — which made a battle 
impossible — they pushed through the Bad Lands ana 
along the southern edge of the Black Hills, leaving death 
and destruction in their wake, and killing or driving away 
all the game. 

The savage and impatient troopers pushed on from day 
to day, their faces to the foe, and their backs to civiliza- 
tion and the forts. They were soon beyond the reach 
of dispatches and couriers, and hopelessly remote from 
the wagon train. The grass was scorched off the prairie, 
and there was slight sustenance for the horses. The 
men’s rations began to get low, and then the September 
rains added to the general misery and discomfort. 

Not an Indian was to be seen — only many and scattered 
trails that zig-zagged this way and that, or described 
semi-circular loops, but always trending toward the north- 
west. This line of retreat precluded the possibility of 
another column heading off the Sioux from in front, and, 
as Major Dallas expressed it to his men, “they had to go 
it alone.” 

But it was almost certain that unseen spies were hang- 
ing about, and so the battalion had to be wary in the mat- 


A Mysterious Column of Smoke. 15 1 

ter of separating. It stuck closely together, as a rule, but 
occasionally a couple of troops would diverge right or 
left to follow a lively-looking trail. But in these cases 
the trail was invariably lost after a few hours, and the de- 
tachment had to return to the main column. 

There had been no time to warn the few and scattered 
inhabitants of this desola J : region, and so the Indians 
found victims here and there for their vengeance. Day 
after day, while on the march, the troopers would halt to 
view the scalped and mutilated bodies of a settler and his 
family, and the cold ashes of their humble cabin ; or they 
would discover, in some hollow of the plains, a slain 
teamster lying by the side of his shattered and half-burned 
wagon. 

When the reveille rang at daybreak on the seventh 
morning, and waked the slumbering camp to life, the pros- 
pect was as gloomy as it well could be. Tobacco and ra- 
tions were nearly exhausted. The men were haggard and 
hungry, and the horses weak and dejected. The battalion 
was now two hundred miles from the nearest post. A 
drizzling rain was falling, and far in the rear the peaks of 
the Black Hills rose faintly above the gray and murky 
horizon. Eighty miles in front — farther than the eye 
could reach — were the rugged ranges of the Big Horn 
Mountains in Montana. 

But orders were orders, and every man and officer 
knew what was expected of him. The Sioux must be 
overtaken if it took a month, and Major Dallas’ voice was 
as clear and resolute as ever as he gave the command to 
march. 

For two hours the jaded column trotted forward over 
the sodden earth, and under the thin, raw drizzle of rain. 
Then they stumbled on a trail that led due north. In the 
opinion of the scouts it was but a few hours old, and had 
been made by from forty to fifty Indians. It was proba- 


152 A Mysterious Column of Smoke. 

bly a blind, and intended to draw the column away from 
the main line of retreat. 

But there was another side of the question to be con- 
sidered, and after a brief hesitation Major Dallas ordered 
Troop A to swing out of line and follow this trail. 

“You may stumble on a big bunch of Sioux, Norman,” 
he said, “and that is a chance not to be missed. Be very 
wary, and don’t let yourself get trapped. And be sure 
to turn back by two o’clock in the afternoon, at the ^latest. 
Head diagonally for our line of march, and try to strike 
us at Powder River. I expect to reach there by sunset.” 

“All right, major,” assented Captain Norman, and a 
moment later he and his detachment, accompanied bv 
Lowther, the scout, were riding off at right angles from 
the main column. Linn exulted in the hope of striking 
something exciting, but Lieutenant Dimsdale told him 
that in all likelihood this expedition would prove as much 
of a wild-goose chase as the ones that had preceded it. 

The lieutenant’s judgment turned out to be correct, so 
far as it went. The trail thinned gradually, and after fol- 
lowing it for ten miles it disappeared entirely. The 
Sioux seemed to have scattered in all directions. 

True to his instructions, Captain Norman pushed on 
until two o’clock, and then turned southwest to rejoin the 
main column. It was still raining, and not a sign of In- 
dians was visible in any direction. The horses were ex- 
hausted and the men were hungry and ill tempered. 

The troop had pushed wearily on for several miles when 
the captain suddenly brought his command to a halt, and 
pointed one hand off to the right. Half a dozen miles to 
the northwest, over a rolling swell of land, lay a pine-clad 
range of hills, interspersed with rocky buttes. And from 
between the two nearest peaks a thick pillar of smoke was 
curling straight up into the air. The men watched it in- 
tently, discussing its meaning in low tones. 


A Mysterious Column of Smoke. 153 

“What do you think of it, Lowther?” asked Captain 
Norman. 

“It’s a signal of some sort, sir,” replied the scout. “It 
may be settlers or a wagon train asking for help. Or, 
perhaps, it’s meant to lure us into ambush.” 

“Hardly that,” said Captain Norman. “At all events, 
I’ll have to report on it. The troop is about worn out, 
and if I march them over there we won’t get back to the 
battalion before morning.” 

“Corporal Osborne,” he added, turning sharply around 
to Linn, “take' ten men who have the best horses, and go 
over there and see what that smoke means. Ten will be 
enough, for I don’t believe there are Indians near in any 
force. Reconnoitre the ground well as you go along, and 
don’t on any pretext venture into the hills. No matter 
what you discover, come back at once and report. You 
will likely overtake us before we rejoin the main column 
at Powder River. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Linn. “I think I do.” 

He did not like the task, and he had a lurking suspicion 
that Captain Norman would be glad to see him get into 
trouble or disgrace — if nothing worse. He was about to 
rsk that Lowther might accompany him, but he changed 
his mind and turned away. His choice was limited to pri- 
vates, and in a short time he had picked out ten men 
whose steeds seemed the best fitted for a rapid march. 
Trumpeter Grant asked and received permission to go, 
?nd this swelled the number to a dozen. 

Meanwhile, Captain Norman’s order had created some 
surprise among the troopers, who felt that the party was 
entirely too small, and that it was going on a doubtful and 
dangerous mission. Some, who knew how matters stood, 
may have entertained the same suspicions that Linn had ; 
but the only man who dared to venture a word on the sub- 
ject was Lieutenant Dimsdale. Disregarding the cap- 


154 A Mysterious Column of Smoke. 

tain’s stare of angry surprise, he rode alongside of the lad 
and said, in a low tone : 

“I hope you’ll come back all right, Osborne. Your or- 
ders sound plain enough, but they may not be easy to fol- 
low. Keep a lookout to right and left, and don’t let any 
Indians get between you and us.” 

“Thanks!” replied Linn. “I’ll watch sharp.” 

A moment later the little detachment rode over the 
swell of ground to the northwest, and lost sight of the 
rest of the troop as it trotted on to the southwest. The 
men were silent, and kept their eyes fixed on the distant 
pillar of smoke. 

For four miles the route led over open and level 
ground, where it was easy to guard against the appear- 
ance of Indians. Then low, bare hills closed in on both 
sides, and Linn, mindful of his orders, sent Trumpeter 
Grant to the ridge on the right and Private Reily to the 
one on the left, both to ride parallel with the main body, 
and watch for signs of danger. 

All went well for the next mile and a half and now the 
low and barren hills, at a distance of several hundred 
yards ahead, could be seen to merge into the woodshed 
and rocky walls of a deep ravine. From some place be- 
yond this the smoke had been rising, but it was no longer 
visible. 

Remembering that it was forbidden to enter the ravine, 
Linn checked his steed, and gave the word to halt. Just 
then a rifle-shot broke the stillness, and Private Reily was 
seen to swerve his horse and gallop down from the ridge 
on the left. At the same instant Trumpeter Grant came 
tearing after his comrades from the opposite side loudly 
sounding the danger call. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


LURED TO DESTRUCTION. 

Linn could not doubt the meaning of the shot and the 
bugle blast, and with a face from which nearly every ves- 
tige of color had fled, he waited in the saddle for his two 
skirmishers to join him. But he was cool and clear- 
headed enough — so much so that his older and more ex- 
perienced men — who were themselves not a little scared — 
were struck by their young officer’s brave demeanor. 

The trumpeter was the first to reach the party, and as 
he checked his steed with a jerk, he uttered the single 
word “Indians.” 

Just then Reily came dashing up. 

“We’re trapped, corporal,” he cried, hoarsely. “The 
whole Sioux nation is closing in on us. They fired at me 
from long range, and it was a darned good shot, too. I 
heard the ball whistle.” 

“Where are they ?” demanded Linn. “And how many ? 
Come, men, we must do our best to get away. The way 
by which we came is open yet, and if we make a rapid 
dash ” 

“Too late !” shouted Grant. “There they come ! Look 
there, and there, and back yonder !” 

It was too true, and what the men now saw as they 
glanced around them was enough to sicken the stoutest 
heart. The low, open valley was at least six hundred 
yards wide, and the crests of the two ridges seemed sud- 
denly to grow alive with Indians. On foot and on horse- 


Lured to Destruction. 


156 

back they started into sight, outlined sharply against the 
gray sky-line. Back behind the troopers — in the direc- 
tion that led to safety and the main column — the braves 
were swarming down into the valley from both sides. 

“This is terrible,” groaned Linn, “but it’s not my fault. 
I took all the precautions I could.” 

“That’s right, corporal,” cried Private Stokes. “You’re 
not to blame.” 

“Of course not,” echoed Grant. “You sent Reily and 
me to reconnoitre on both flanks, and the major himself 
would have done no more with so small a party. But I 
swear I don’t know where the Sioux came from. They 
must have been lying low in the little hollows and bushes 
beyond the ridge to the right.” 

“And it was the same way over on the left,” cried Reily. 
“The devils let us ride well past before they showed them- 
selves. It was a cleverly planned trap, and that smoke 
was meant to lead us into it.” 

“And we’re in sure enough,” said a trooper, while two 
others long and loudly cursed Captain Norman. 

“None of that, men,” Linn sternly commanded. “This 
is no time for blame or censure. We’re in a bad scrape, 
and I confess I don’t see much show for saving our scalps. 
But if there’s any chance at all it’s to make a dash for 
the ravine, and find a sheltered place where we can stand 
a siege till help comes. I know I was ordered not to 
enter, but under the circumstances ” 

“There may be more of the devils hidden up in there, 
sir,” interrupted Dawnay, one of the oldest of the troop- 
ers, “and they’d like nothing better than to lure us in 
among the rocks and timber, where we wouldn’t even be 
able to fire a decent shot. They know that if we make 
a stand here a lot of them will bite the dust before they 
finish us.” 

“But in the end every man of us will be shot,” replied 


Lured to Destruction. 


157 


Linn. “The ravine is the only hope, whether there are 
more Indians there or not. In one way their plan has 
miscarried, for I have no doubt they counted on luring 
the whole troop into the trap. Now that they have only 
got part of us, they can’t help but know that the rest of the 
detachment will come to our relief. If we can find good 
shelter and hold it for a few hours, we’ll be all right.” 

“It will take more than a few hours,” muttered Grant. 
“What can the troop do with such a horde ? It will need 
the whole column.” 

During the brief time that this conversation was going 
on, and while the little handful of troopers sat huddled in 
the saddle, the Sioux had gathered more thickly on both 
ridges. Now those who had poured down into the valley 
from behind began to ride forward, yelling and whooping 
at the top of their voices. 

As yet the braves on the two crests sat quietly looking 
on, and without making any move to descend the slopes. 
The heads of their two lines reached only to points oppo- 
site the troopers, and this fact — the leaving of a line of 
retreat open — indicated pretty clearly that they wanted to 
lure the little detachment into the ravine. 

So it appeared to Linn, and at this trying moment the 
young corporal' thought far less of his own danger than 
of the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. His 
duty was not to think of himself, but to do his utmost 
to save his men. 

“We can’t be worse off in the ravine than here,” he said, 
after a brief hesitation, “and we may find shelter there. 
I’m going to take the chances, men.” 

Half a dozen voices warmly approved this plan, and 
at the word of command the troopers spurred their horses 
to a gallop and dashed up the remaining part of the open 
valley. 

The whole horde of surrounding Sioux now began to 


Lured to Destruction. 


158 

yell with well-simulated anger, pretending to fear that 
their victims were about to escape. Those behind rode 
on at the top of their speed, firing shot after shot. The 
Indians on the two ridges numbered several hundred, and 
these took good care to let the troopers get well past them. 
Then, from right and left they came diagonally down the 
slopes in pursuit, whooping and screeching, and emptying 
their rifles in one incessant volley. 

Faster and faster sped the little detachment, with the 
bullets whistling on all sides of them. In the first hun- 
dred yards of the race no one was hit, and soon the low, 
bare ridges to right and left rose up to meet the wooded 
and rocky heights of the two mountainous peaks. Be- 
tween the latter, and gratefully near at hand, yawned the 
deep, dark, gorge, it’s trough choked with timber and 
bushes except for a narrow belt on both sides of a tiny 
stream that trickled through the middle. 

But now the yelling Sioux were pressing close on the 
rear, and scores of rifles were flashing and cracking. At 
the very mouth of the ravine two of Linn’s men fell simul- 
taneously, and as the party halted it was seen that the 
poor fellows were dead. 

There was no time to save their scalps. The troopers 
wheeled about, and with cool aim fired a volley that stag- 
gered the foe, and brought more than one brave out of 
the saddle. Another volley, and then they went gallop- 
ing clumsily up the ravine, leaving the dead behind. 

The horses slipped and stumbled in the bed of the 
stream and on the rugged banks, and Linn soon gave the 
order to dismount. In a trice the men were out of the 
saddle, and after two more volleys, they pushed on in 
search of shelter. A lively fire was poured into them 
by the hotly pursuing Indians. Two horses fell, and an 
instant later Private Drew was shot through the hip and 
lungs. His comrades dragged him along until he 


Lured to Destruction. 


159 


breathed his last, and then they dropped him. The men 
were now half crazy with rage, and as they stumbled on 
up the gloomy ravine, they kept firing back with such 
deadly effect that the Sioux were held at a distance. 

“This is awful,” cried Linn. “I don’t see any hope for 
us. All we can do is fight to the last and die like sol- 
diers.” 

“We’ll do that, sir,” shouted Dawnay, as he aimed his 
carbine. “Give it to ’em, comrades!” 

“Be on your guard, corporal,” said the trumpeter, as he 
pushed forward alongside of Linn. “I’m afraid there’s 
an ambush ahead. I wouldn’t venture much further.” 

“We’ve got to find shelter, if it’s a possible thing,” Linn 
replied. “I won’t give up hope, Grant. We’ll push on a 
bit yet, and ” 

“Yonder is a likely spot, sir,” interrupted Reily. 
“What do you think of it?” 

He pointed to the rugged and pine-covered cliff that 
rose a hundred and fifty feet in air beyond the inter- 
vening slope of scrub, saplings, and loose stones on the 
right of the gorge. Ten feet above it’s base was what 
looked to be a natural and jutting parapet, with a roomy 
recess behind it extending under the overhanging ledges 
above. 

“It’s not a bad place, from what we can see of it,” 
cried Linn. “If we can once get up there in safety ” 

As he spoke a savage burst of yells rang from the 
thicket twenty feet up the stream, and from that hidden 
ambush a score of rifles were fired at the unsuspecting 
little party. Private Harris dropped dead, shot through 
the head, and two others were wounded. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A GAUANT DEFENSE. 

This unexpected fire, which showed that foes were in 
front as well as behind, almost demoralized the troopers. 
As the smoke drifted down on them they huddled together 
in confusion, not knowing which way to turn, and seeing 
no enemies to shoot at. Linn alone retained his presence 
of mind, and was equal to the emergency. His voice rang 
clearly above the whooping of the Indians and the neigh- 
ing and trampling of the frightened horses. 

“Steady, there, men,” he cried. “Wait till the smoke 
lifts, and then give them a volley in front. Now’s your 
chance — fire where you see the bushes move.” 

The corporal’s command was instantly obeyed. The 
smoke had partly risen, revealing the thicket where the 
Sioux lay in ambush. The Indians were recklessly show- 
ing themselves here and there amid the bushes, and with 
cool and steady aim, the troopers fired shot after shot. 

This rather staggered the foe, and the intermittent vol- 
ley that they sent back did no damage. Then the thick 
smoke settled down along the channel of the stream, and 
for a moment the combatants were hidden from one an- 
other’s view. Linn turned to look toward the mouth of 
the gorge, and a rapid glance showed him that the main 
body of the Sioux were coming on swiftly. 

“Now’s our chance, men,” he shouted. “A quick dash 
will save us. Make for the rocky ledge up yonder on the 
cliff. Don’t forget the wounded — take them along. You 
lead the way, Dawnay. Grant and I will cover the rear.” 


A Gallant Defense. 


161 


No time was lost in executing this order. Harris was 
dead, and the body was left where it had fallen. The 
two wounded, Bent and Hiester, were picked up as tender- 
ly as the hurried flight would permit. Led by Dawnay, 
the little handful of troopers plunged into the tangle of 
stones and bushes to the right of the stream and scrambled 
in hot haste for the cliff. 

The ambushed Indians were now tumbling out of cover 
twenty feet up the valley, and half a hundred yelling 
braves were swarming forward from the opposite direc- 
tion. The abandoned horses were galloping this way and 
that through the scattering curls of smoke. 

Linn and the trumpeter had halted on the edge of the 
bushes, and they took in the situation at a glance. Each 
fired three or four shots out of his carbine at the ap- 
proaching foes, and then they turned and vanished in the 
thicket. 

For the present they were safe, though the bullets 
whistled thickly around them. With great strides, they 
leaped over stones and through the scrub, and overtook 
their comrades at the base of the cliff. 

For ten feet up to the place of shelter the rock was 
sloping and afforded plenty of footholds. Private 
Dawnay had already climbed to the ledge, and without a 
thought of personal danger, he leaned down and took 
hold of the two wounded men as they were pushed up to 
him. 

Meanwhile the fire of the Indians had ceased, and they 
did not seem to be making much of an effort to pursue. 
As yet they had not observed the ledge, nor did they 
suspect the purpose of the troopers. Evidently they be- 
lieved that the little party were making a last stand in the 
bushes, and could be picked off and slaughtered at leisure. 

So. with Dawnav’s aid, the two wounded men were 
hauled up to the ledge and put out of harm’s way. Then 


162 


A Gallant Defense. 


the rest started to follow, and just at that instant the 
Sioux down in the open caught sight of them and saw 
what was intended. 

A score of rifles began to crack, and as the troopers 
swarmed nimbly up the face of the rock they found them- 
selves under a heavy fire. But so quick were their move- 
ments, that all gained the ledge in safety except Private 
Wilson. He, poor fellow, was shot through the head and 
body just as he reached the top. With his death-cry on 
his lips he fell backward, landing heavily in the bushes 
below. 

“He’s past help,” shouted Linn. “We’ve got enough 
to do to look out for ourselves now, men. Drop down 
and keep out of sight.” 

The panting and breathless troopers sank on their hands 
and knees, but not to remain long inactive. The first 
glance around showed them that they possessed a most 
admirable place of defense. They were on an oblong 
platform about twelve feet long by eight in width, which 
reached back like a cavern under the overhanging face of 
the cliff. The front of it was semi-circular in shape, and 
was protected all along it’s open edge by a natural parapet 
of rock about a foot and half high. 

This parapet was broken in several places, and the first 
thing the men did was to stop, up the gaps with some 
loose slabs of stone that lay within reach. Then they 
loaded their carbines and crouched warily under cover, 
peeping down into the valley through what tiny crevices 
they could find. 

The firing had now ceased, and not an Indian was to 
be seen along the trough of the ravine — which was in 
plain view. Several of the horses were wandering aim- 
lessly about, and an incessant movement of the bushes on 
the further side of the stream told that the Sioux were 
creeping up the valley in force. Drew and Harris lay 


A Gallant Defense. 


163 

among the rocks where they had fallen, and even at this 
distance it could be seen that the bodies of the poor fellows 
had been scalped. It was a maddening sight, and the 
troopers forgot heir own peril in a thirst for vengeance. 

‘'The' devils are moving thick over yonder in the 
bushes,” muttered Dawnay. "If we open a steady fire 
we’re sure to drop a few of ’em. What do you say, sir?” 

"No, it won’t do,” replied Linn. "Don’t waste any 
cartridges. (We may need them all before long.” 

"That’s right, sir,” said Grant. "This quiet means 
mischief. The. Sioux are bound to have our scalps, and 
it won’t be their fault if they don’t get them.” 

For the next half-hour there was no change in the situa- 
tion. The stillness of death brooded over the valley, ex- 
cept for the low murmur of the stream. A drizzling rain 
fell from the murky 'clouds, and the thick, gray mist 
drooped lower and lower. 

Linn’s thoughts were as gloomy as the scene around 
him. He knew that he and his comrades had but a slim 
chance for their lives, and he realized vaguely that in the 
event of a rescue there would be trouble of another sort 
in store for him. 

"I’m not to blame for what has happened,” he reflected, 
"but it won’t be easy to clear myself. I obeyed orders 
as long as it was possible to do so, and then I had to 
assume the responsibility of entering the gorge. If I 
hadn’t done that every man of us would be lying dead 
and scalped now. I half believe that Captain Norman 
wanted me to get into a scrape, and he’ll charge me with 
the death of all these poor fellows. Instead of getting a 
higher grade than corporal, I’m likely to be reduced to 
the ranks.” 

The young officer certainly had cause to feel heart-sick. 
Out of the twelve troopers who had ridden away from the 
detachment only five had escaped death or injury — Linn 


A Gallant Defense. 


164 

himself, Trumpeter Grant, and Privates Dawnay, Reily, 
and Pomfret. Two were wounded, and five were dead. 
Marker and Marsh lay at the mouth of the valley, Drew 
and Harris lay down in the bed of the stream, and the 
body of Wilson was at the foot of the cliff. 

Of the wounded, Bent’s case was hopeless. The man 
was shot through the lungs, and nothing could be done 
for him. He was lying in a state of semi-consciousness 
in a far corner of the ledge, groaning from time to time 
and stirring restlessly. But Hiester was only shot 
through the thigh, and the plucky fellow had insisted on 
being placed behind the parapet, where he could lift him- 
self on his elbow and shoot if his services should be 
needed. 

‘‘Corporal, don’t look so down-hearted,” said Grant, 
who was lying next to the young officer and had observed 
his dejection. “It’s a pity we’ve lost so many brave fel- 
lows, but the same thing has happened over and over 
again. And the rest of us are safe enough. This place 
is almost impregnable, and we can hold it until help comes. 
There are six of us, counting Hiester, and all good shots.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Linn answered, wearily. 
“You know ” 

“Yes, I know what’s on your mind,” said Grant. 
“Every one of us understands that Captain Norman hates 
you, and you won’t lack for witnesses to clear you if he 
dares to charge you with blame. Why, it’s not your fault 
at all. On the contrary, you’ve behaved like an old sol- 
dier, and the men are astonished at your bravery and 
pluck. It’s due entirely to you that any of us are alive 
now. If any one gets hauled over the coals it will be 
Norman himself. He had no business to send out so 
small a party. A plain case of negligence, I call i 1 . and 
you can bet your boots ” 

“Corporal,” Dawnay interrupted, in a sharp whisper, 


A Gallant Defense. 


165 

“there’s a good deal of rustling down yonder in the 
thicket. I reckon the Indians have crossed the stream 
above and below and then joined forces. We’re going to 
ketch it now, if I ain’t mistaken.” 

“Get ready, then, men,” Linn replied. “Each one of 
you see that he has a loophole to fire from. Are your 
rifles and pistols all loaded?” 

Every man answered yes, and before more could be 
said the foe made a dash up the wooded slope of the 
valley. To right and left and in front the scrub grew 
alive with dusky, squirming forms. With hideous yells 
at least three score of painted warriors came leaping to 
the very base of the cliff, eager for the blood of the little 
, party of troopers. 

“Steady, now,” cried Linn. “Aim well and low. 
Fire !” 

Crash ! Out blazed the rifle volley, and more than one 
brave bit the dust. Crash ! crash ! Two more charges in 
quick succession plowed gaps in the dense ranks of the 
foe. They wavered and staggered. 

“Once more!” shouted Linn. 

And as the cool and alert troopers rained lead down the 
sloping rock, themselves protected by the parapet from 
the return fire, the Sioux were fairly checked. 

With hoarse cries of rage and anguish, the baffled 
braves broke right and left, and went back to the shelter 
of the stones and bushes, dismayed to find themselves re- 
pulsed by a mere handful of soldiers. A dozen dead and 
wounded lay near the cliff, and those able to stir were 
seen wriggling away like serpents. 

With hoarse cheers, the troopers rose recklessly to their 
feet and emptied rifles and revolvers after the fleeing foe. 
Then, at Linn’s command, they dropped under cover again 
in time to escape a volley from the Indians who lay in 
ambush to right and left of the scene of action. 


A Gallant Defense. 


1 66 

A brief lull followed, which gave the men time to re- 
load. Then the infuriated Indians made a second attack, 
and in larger numbers. They struggled desperately to 
swarm up the face of the cliff, but all in vain. The heavy 
and incessant fire from the loopholes of the parapet, 
poured slantingly down upon them, was more than they 
could stand. With a loss of nearly a score, they melted 
away as quickly as they had come, and deep silence 
settled on the gloomy gorge. 

‘'That was lively work,” said Dawnay, as he wiped his 
perspiring face, ‘‘and there ain’t one of us hit.” 

“I had a close shave,” replied Private Reily. “A bullet 
struck alongside of my head and threw chips in my eyes.” 

“And I’ve got a ball through the fleshy part of my left 
arm,” added Private Pomfret, “but it won’t keep me from 
firing.” 

*“It was a gallant fight, men,” said Linn, “and we should 
be thankful that we are all alive. I think we are safe 
now. The Indians have been taught a lesson, and I don’t 
believe they will attempt another assault in a hurry.” 



CHAFTER XXVII. 

AN ERRAND Of MERCY. 

The day was now nearly ended, and the murky sky 
was beginning to fade before the approach of twilight. 
With gloomy hearts, the besieged troopers watched the 
darkness gather on the little valley below them, until the 
outline of every tree and rock was blurred from sight. 
Not a sound but the murmur of the stream broke the 
stillness. There was nothing to indicate that a couple 
of hundred blood-thirsty Indians were lurking in the 
vicinity. 

Incessant vigilance was the price of safety, and the 
weary men neither dared to sleep, nor to venture away 
from their posts. With loaded carbines and revolvers at 
hand, they crouched behind the parapet, straining their 
eyes to peer into the gloom below, and listening for the 
slightest noise that might mean danger. 

Thus a couple of hours slipped by. Fortunately the 
troopers did not suffer from hunger, for their haver- 
sacks contained a small supply of rations. It was 
enough for one meal, and the food was divided and eaten 
in silence. There was no water to wash it down with, 
for the canteens had long since been drained. Linn’s 
had held out the longest, but instead of drinking himself, 
he poured the last drops between Bent’s burning lips. 
The young officer and his men were now tormented by 
thirst, but as there was no remedy, they did not complain. 

The water was as good as wasted on poor Bent. He 
was still unconscious and breathing painfully, and there 


i68 


An Errand of Mercy. 

was little chance of his living through the night. Hies- 
ter, the other wounded trooper, had taken a turn for the 
worse, and was no longer able to share in the defense. 
The ball was imbedded in his thigh, and the wound was 
badly inflamed. His comrades had carried him to the 
rear of the parapet, and he lay on the hard bed of rock, 
tossing from side to side, and babbling to himself in the 
delirium of fever. Linn frequently crept back to the 
suffering men, in hopes of being able to do something 
for. them. He had bandaged the wounds as well as he 
could, and had tied up Pomfret’s arm. The latter made 
light of his hurt, though it was giving him not a little 
pain. 

“Don’t you worry about me, corporal,” he said. “I’m 
all right. Luckily it’s my left arm, and though I can’t 
easily handle a carbine, I can manage a revolver well 
enough with my right hand.” 

“I hope there won’t be any more fighting,” Linn re- 
plied. “The Sioux know that they can’t catch us nap- 
ping, and it’s only a question of holding out until relief 
comes.” 

“About what time is it, corporal?” asked Dawnay. 
“Have you any idea?” 

“It must be close to nine o’clock,” said Linn, “and 
that’s what puzzles me. Surely by this time ” 

“Hist ! listen to that,” interrupted Reily. 

As he spoke the hoot of an owl rang from some dis- 
tance up the gorge, and it was quickly followed by the 
weird bark of a coyote, down by the mouth of the val- 
ley. The .sounds were repeated several times. 

“What do you make out of that, men?” Linn ques- 
tioned. “You know I’m not well booked on frontier 
woodcraft. Is it a real owl hooting and a genuine coyote 
barking? It sounds so to me.” 

“That’s a hard question to answer, sir,” replied Daw- 


An Errand of Mercy. 169 

nay. “The redskins are so good at imitatin’ birds and 
beasts that it ain’t easy to tell one from the other. As 
like as not what we hear are Indian signals. There they 
go again.” 

“You’re right, Dawnay,” said Grant. “The Sioux are 
up to some devilment, but I don’t think we need be 
afraid of an attack. They seldom, if ever, do any fight- 
ing at night. The signaling has a different meaning.” 

“It won’t do to be sure of that,” said Pomfret. “The 
Indians know that we’re bound to be relieved pretty 
soon, and they may try to rush us again under cover of 
the darkness.” 

“That brings me back to what I was asking you about 
the time, corporal,” put in Dawnay. “You said you 
reckoned it was close to nine o’clock. Well, if that’s the 
case, Captain Norman and the rest of the troop should 
have been here before this.” 

“Yes, hours ago,” assented Grant. 

“I know that,” replied Linn, “and I can’t account for 
it. Of course the captain intended to push on after the 
main column, but after hearing the firing, he would have 
turned back to our relief. Why, he should have been 
here before dark. And he must have heard our shots.” 

“I’m afraid he didn’t, sir,” said Dawnay. “You see, 
the wind was blowing from the wrong direction, and we 
were seven or eight miles apart at the least.” 

“Then you think the detachment has gone on to join 
the main column?” Linn exclaimed. 

Dawnay nodded. 

“That’s about it, sir.” 

“And I’m of the same opinion, corporal,” added Grant. 
“The situation is just this. By sunset the captain’s party 
would likely have joined Major Dallas at Powder River, 
and our not coming in soon afterward would show that 
something was wrong. Then the major would send 


170 An Errand of Mercy. 

three or four troops to our relief. They must have 
started right after sundown, and it’s ten to one that they 
are miles on their way by now.” 

“And what time ought they to arrive here?” asked 
Linn. 

“It’s hard to say,” Grant replied, “for you know the 
horses are all pretty badly knocked out. But if they 
ride their level best — and I’m sure they will — they ought 
to reach the mouth of the valley two or three hours after 
midnight.” 

“Then we’ve got a difficult piece of work to do, and 
one that we dare not shirk,” exclaimed Linn, sitting up- 
right in his excitement. “By Jove, men, don’t you. see. 
what will happen? Three troops, or even four, are no 
match in craft for the Indians. The Sioux are two or 
three hundred strong, and they know that help is on the 
way. They won’t bother any more about taking our 
few scalps. Instead of that, they will form an ambus- 
cade behind both ridges that cover the approach to the 
valley. The cavalry will push into it and be surrounded 
and cut to pieces. At least, that’s what will happen if 
we don’t prevent it.” 

It was strange that no one had thought of this before, 
and now that Linn had suggested it to his men, they 
began to discuss the question eagerly. All were agreed 
on one thing; namely, that the Sioux would certainly at- 
tempt to ambuscade the relief force in the natural trap 
beyond the mouth of the gorge. The simulated cries of 
the owl and coyote were likely signals to that effect. 

But tlwe was some difference of opinion as to whether 
the force would be easily trapped. Grant held that Cap- 
tain Norman would be in command, and that he would 
take every precaution to guard against a surprise. But 
Dawnay was less sanguine. He predicted that the troop- 
ers would expect no danger outside of the gorge itself — 


An Errand of Mercy. 171 

especially in the night time, and that they would be sur- 
rounded and butchered. 

Linn listened patiently to what the men had to say, 
but he was not to be turned from what he regarded as 
his duty. 

“Theories are not going to help us any,” he said, “and 
they need not be considered. The fact is that the force 
will arrive between midnight and dawn, and that it runs 
a tremendous risk of being cut to pieces. There are 
three of four hours to spare yet, and in that time one of 
us must reach the open country beyond the valley, inter- 
cept the relief column, and warn it of the danger. And 
I shall be the one to go.” 

“You can’t do it, sir,” Grant said, bluntly. “It’s sure 
death. You can’t creep out of the valley either way 
without being discovered and shot.” 

“I tell you it’s got to be done,” Linn replied, sharply, 
“and there’s an end of it. I was always a good climber, 
and I have an idea I can scale this cliff behind us. There 
are plenty of grips for the feet and hands.” 

“That might be done, sir,” said Dawnay. “I’m too 
heavy a man, or I’d try it myself. And how are the rest 
of us to be relieved in case you reach the force? It 
won’t be an easy matter.” 

“It will be done somehow, depend on that,” replied 
Linn. “If the troops avoid falling into an ambuscade 
they will either fight their way up the valley from in 
front, or circle around in the rear. If you hold out till 
morning you will be relieved.” 

Just then Hiester’s incoherent babblings turned to a 
pitiful appeal for water, and Linn and Grant crept over 
to the wounded man. He was tossing restlessly in the 
throes of fever and clutching at the empty air. 

“I’m burning up,” he moaned. “I’m dying of thirst. 
For Heaven’s sake give me water — only a drop.” 


172 


An Errand of Mercy. 

“Poor fellow! he’ll have to do without it,” muttered 
Grant. “There’s not a drop in the party.” 

“He shan’t suffer for want of it,” said Linn, with sud- 
den determination. “I’ll get him a drink.” 

“It will cost you your life,” remonstrated Grant. 
“Don’t try it, sir. It’s madness.” 

“I’m not afraid,” Linn replied. “There are not likely 
to be any Indians between here and the stream, and they 
don’t dream of any of us venturing down from the ledge. 
I’ll be back with the water in a couple of minutes, and 
then I’ll have a try at the cliff.” 

The men earnestly attempted to dissuade Linn from 
his rash purpose, but he was determined to carry out his 
errand of mercy. He pulled off his boots, and put a re- 
volver in one pocket and his canteen in the other. Then 
he softly and noiselessly lowered himself from the ledge 
and vanished in the dark thicket at the bottom. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


A PERILOUS CLIMB. 

Linn knew pretty well what he was about. He had 
hurriedly weighed the chances for and against the suc- 
cess of his errand, and he was satisfied that vigilance and 
caution would pull him through safely. He had every 
reason to think the ledge was not under surveillance at 
present, and that no Indians were in the immediate vi- 
cinity. He also had a deeper and secret purpose in view 
other than the procuring of water for the wounded man. 

His heart almost failed him for a moment, as he found 
himself crouching at the foot of the ledge. Behind him 
were his comrades and shelter, while in front was a sheet 
of blackness that might or might not abound with peril. 

“I’ve got to do it,” he reflected. “I can’t shirk my 
plain duty. So here goes.” 

He listened a second or two, but could detect nothing 
alarming. Then he crept slowly forward on his hands 
and knees, taking every precaution to avoid touching 
loose stones or dried twigs. On and on he went with 
the craft and cunning of a serpent, guided in his course 
by the faint tinkle of the rivulet down in the trough of 
the ravine. 

It was wearisome work, and he was constantly beset 
by the fear that his beating heart would betray him, or 
that some brawny foe would pounce upon him unawares. 
Twice he stopped short, terrified by sounds that he be- 
lieved to be Indian signals — the hooting of an owl and 
the shrill bark of a coyote. 


I 74 


A Perilous Climb. 


With bruised and scratched limbs, he dragged himself 
on through the tangle of rocks, bushes, and trees, and at 
last the perilous journey ended in safety. With a thank- 
ful heart, he halted on the edge of the stream, at a spot 
where the water formed a little eddy between two jut- 
ting bowlders. A leafy thicket overhung, and through 
it he could see dimly across the channel to the opposite 
side of the valley. 

It was the work of a moment for Linn to noiselessly 
fill the canteen and put it back in his pocket. But he did 
not at once start on his return journey. Instead, he 
crouched down in the shelter of the bowlders and 
watched and listened keenly. 

For five minutes there was not a sound but the mur- 
mur of the flowing water ; even the simulated cries of the 
owl and coyote — if such they were — had ceased entirely. 
Then, finally, the young officer’s patience was rewarded. 

His eyes were accustomed to the darkness by this time, 
and in the semi-gloom he saw dusky figures slipping past 
him on the farther side of the rocky channel. In groups 
of five and six they came in sight from up the gorge and 
vanished hurriedly in the direction of the lower outlet. 
Not a word was spoken, and the moccasined feet made 
no sound, except when a dry twig was stepped upon. 

“Just as I supposed!” Linn said to himself. “It’s easy 
to guess what that means. Well, I’ve gained one thing 
by creeping down here. I know now what I’ve got to 
do, and the sooner I get at it, the better.” 

At least three score of Indians had passed him by this 
time, and they were still on their noiseless march down 
the valley. He did not wait to see how many more were 
to come. He turned away from the stream and started 
back up the rugged slope, moving with greater speed and 
ease, now that he knew the vicinity to be free from ene- 


mies. 


A Perilous Climb. 


175 


Nearly half an hour had elapsed since Linn’s depart- 
ure, and when he reached the base of the ledge, eager 
hands were outstretched to haul him over the parapet, 
and he was welcomed as one from the dead. 

“Thank heaven you’re safe !” whispered Dawnay. 
“We’d given you up, sir. We thought the redskins had 
finished you with a knife-thrust.” 

“This is the pluckiest deed I’ve known since I came 
on the frontier, corporal,” said Grant, “and I’ve seen a 
good bit of active service.” 

“It had to be done,” Linn replied, briefly, “and I was 
sure I could do it. Wait a moment ” 

He crept over to Hiester and poured a long drink of 
the cool water down his parched throat. He also gave 
Bent a portion, and then handed the canteen to Dawnay. 

“You fellows divide the rest among you,” he said. 

“After you, sir,” replied the trooper. “We have no 
claim on it.” 

“No, I took a drink down at the stream,” Linn an- 
swered, “and I won’t need any more for the present. 
When I do I will find a way to get it. And now who 
will volunteer to accompany me? There’s no time to 
lose, and I want to start as soon as possible ” 

“You’re still bent on climbing the cliff, sir?” inter- 
rupted Grant. 

“More than ever,” said Linn, “and I’ll tell you why. 
The Sioux are pushing down the ravine in force, and that 
means that they are getting ready to waylay the relief 
party when it comes. There is no longer any doubt 
about it, and my duty is plain.” 

This information surprised and startled the men, and 
after hearing Linn’s account of what he had seen, all 
were agreed that something must be done to save the 
command that was doubtless now on its way to the 
valley. 


A Perilous Climb. 


176 

“A couple of good climbers can scale the cliff,” said 
Linn, as he glanced up at the towering mass of rock; 
“I am sure of that. None of you can well be spared, and 
yet it is important that one man shall go with me. Then, 
if anything happens to either of us, the other will have a 
chance to escape and warn the soldiers. But it’s got to 
be of your own free will. Are any of you ready to face 
the danger and the climb?” 

Every man of the little party volunteered at once, and 
it looked as though a choice would be difficult. But 
after a little reflection, Linn saw that the matter could be 
decided only in one way. 

“Dawnay is too heavily built to climb with safety,” he 
said, “and of course Pomfret’s wounded arm puts him 
out of the running. And Grant must be left here in 
charge. Reily, how are you at climbing?” 

“I can scale almost anything, sir,” the trooper an- 
swered, “and that cliff yonder ain’t much compared to 
what I’ve done in my time. Just try me.” 

“I will,” said Linn. “You’re the man I want. Now, 
Grant, I’m going to turn my responsibility over to you. 
I don’t think there’s danger of another attack to-night, 
but you had better watch sharp. If we succeed in join- 
ing the relief force — and I think we will — you will almost 
certainly be rescued by morning. If help comes a little 
late you’ll have to fight hard. But I’m sure you can pull 
through. Take care of the wounded, and if anything 
happens to me, remember that I did my duty, and stuck 
to orders as well as I could.” 

“Pll do that, sir,” the trumpeter replied, earnestly. 
“I and my comrades will answer for it that no false 
charges will be allowed to stain your good name. But 
don’t talk about going under, corporal. You’ll live to 
see many a fight yet.” 

“And may you soon be with us again, sir,” added 


A Perilous Climb. 


177 

Dawnay. “But ain’t there a safer way for it than to 
climb that dizzy precipice ?” 

“No, that’s the only outlet,” Linn replied. “The Val- 
ley down below is full of Indians, and there are certainly 
a good many left on guard above. It we tried to escape 
in either direction we would be discovered and shot. 
Come, Reily, it’s getting on toward midnight, and what 
we have to do will require considerable time.” 

A brief and affecting scene followed. Low whispered 
farewells were said, and the three troopers who were to 
stay behind clasped the hands of the two comrades who 
were starting on a mission of grave peril. Then, each 
with a brace of loaded revolvers in his belt, Linn and 
Reily pulled themselves to a narrow ledge shortly above 
the left-hand corner of the parapet, and from there gained 
a strip of bushes and pine-shoots still higher up. 

The trying task was now fairly begun, and the daring 
climbers were speedily concealed from the eyes of their 
watching comrades below. With steady nerves and un- 
erring skill, they mounted higher and higher, seeking 
holds for feet and hands with the quickness and agility 
of wild goats. 

The darkness of the night proved both a help and a 
hindrance, for while it screened them from the view 
of keen-eved Indians, it added to the difficulty of choos- 
ing a safe and speedy path. By daylight a nimble and 
strong-headed schoolboy might have scaled the cliff 
without much risk. It sloped upward at a slight angle, 
and its face was scared with knobs of rock and zig-zag 
crevices and partly covered with tough grass and scrub 
and stunted pine treesi 

“Don’t look down,” Linn whispered to his companion, 
after he had incautiously let himself catch a glimpse of 
the yawning gulf below. “Be careful to keep your eyes 

in front.” 


A Perilous Climb. 


i 7 8 

“All right, sir,” replied Reily. “I’m too old a climber 
to look any other way. We’ve made out well so far. 
Why, we’re half way to the top already. But there’s 
another thing we must guard against, sir, and that’s dis- 
lodging any good-sized stones. These little bits of 
gravel and clay that go rattling down don’t count for 
much, but a big noise will tell the Sioux what we’re up to, 
and then we’ll likely find some of them waiting for us at 
the top.” 

“That’s true,” assented Linn. “We must be mighty 
careful, Reily. If we try every root and bit of rock 
there’s not much danger of dislodging anything large.” 

With one or the other alternately taking the lead, the 
young officer and his companion steadily ascended 
higher and higher up the dizzy face of the precipice, veer- 
ing off to right or left at times, turning awkward corners, 
and taking advantage of every hold that offered. 

The upper portion of the cliff was by far the most 
perilous and difficult, and the final fifty feet taxed their 
nerves and courage to the utmost. Bits of stone and 
dirt rattled down at intervals from under foot, but by 
incessant caution nothing large enough to attract the at- 
tention of the Sioux was dislodged. The plucky 
climbers had several narrow shaves that nearly took their 
breath away, and once they actually crawled up eight 
feet of overhanging rock by clinging to projections and 
crevices. 

Meanwhile the horizon line of timber overhead was 
drawing steadily nearer, and at last the surface of the 
precipice terminated at a gentle and grassy slope. Up 
this Linn and Reily crawled on hands and knees, and 
sank down panting and exhausted in the dark shelter of 
the pine trees on top of the ridge. The first and worst 
portion of their journey was safely accomplished. 

After resting just long enough to recover breath, they 


A Perilous Climb. 


J 7 9 


crossed the ridge and pushed down the slope on the op- 
posite side. This fell away at a gentle angle, and though 
it was rugged with stones and tangled timber, the young 
officer led on at a rapid rate of speed. 

“It don’t matter if we make a little noise, Reily,” he 
said. “There are surely no Indians about to hear it, and 
the main thing with us just now is to gain time. You 
see, we’ve got to cover a good deal of ground before 
we can strike a safe place to lie in wait for the relief 
force.” 

“Right you are, sir,” replied Reily, “but we’d best go 
a bit cautious. This is just the sort of a trap to break a 
man’s legs.” 

However, no bones were broken in spite of frequent 
falls, and a half-hour of stumbling and sliding down hill 
brought them safely to a narrow ravine. Here they 
turned southward and quickly emerged from the timber 
on the brink of a far-reaching plain. By the dim light 
it was seen to be almost level and covered with patches 
of scrub. 

To the right was a low ridge running north and south, 
and Linn pointed to it eagerly. 

“That is the continuation of the mountain we just 
climbed,” he whispered, “and beyond it is the valley that 
leads to the gorge — the same valley by which we ap- 
proached this afternoon.” 

“And right in front of us,” said Reily, “is where the 
Sioux were lying when they swarmed up and surrounded 
us. And I’ll bet a hundred of the devils are lurking 
yonder in the thickets now, and off on the far side of the 
next valley, waiting to close in on the relief force.” 

“Yes, that’s about it,” assented Linn, “and it means 
that we must make a wide detour to get around this dan- 
gerous neighborhood, and then strike to the southeast 
to meet the soldiers. What do you think ?” 


180 A Perilous Climb. 

“It’s the best and only plan, sir,” replied Reily, “so 
here goes.” 

With their pistols held in readiness for instant use, 
the two crept forward in a southeasterly direction along 
the edge of the timbered foothills that bordered the plain, 
intending to go at least a mile before striking to the 
south. But they had traveled no more than fifty yards 
when, on circling around a spur of rock, they made a dis- 
covery that was both pleasing and alarming. So near 
that they could almost be touched, stood two Indian 
ponies, picketed amid the low grass. Not a Sioux was 
in sight, and the nearest bushes were twenty feet away. 

Private Reily’s hair almost stood on end. 

“Back, back, sir,” he whispered. “Get behind the 
rock, and then cut for the timber. It’ll take scratchin’ 
to save our scalps.” 

“No — hold on,” muttered Linn. “It’s too late to do 
that, for we’re likely in a nest of Indians. There’s only 
one thing to do — we must mount the ponies and make a 
dash for life.” 

“Corporal, you’re either the bravest man that ever 
lived, or the most foolhardy,” said Reily, in a husky tone, 
and with that he whipped out a knife and severed the 
lariats that fastened the steeds. He leaped astride the 
largest pony, and Linn hastily mounted the other. 

Just at that instant three dusky figures rose in view 
from the bushes to one side. Crack! a bullet whistled 
overhead. Crack ! crack ! down went Linn’s pony with a 
whinny of pain. Another report — this time from Reily’s 
revolver — and then the trooper was galloping like mad 
over the dusky plain, believing his comrade to be dead, 
and thinking only of the duty he must perform. 

Stunned and dazed by the fall, Linn rose from the spot 
where the dying pony had pitched him — rose to see the 
dusky Sioux braves starting up on three sides of him 


A Perilous Climb, 


181 


and to hear their mad yells of rage. He lifted a revolver 
in each hand, but before he could pull the triggers, a 
rifle was fired at close range. He felt a stinging pain in 
his head, and all consciousness left him as he dropped 
heavily. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


AN UNPLEASANT AWAKENING. 

It generally takes a man some time to get his thoughts 
and recollections into lucid shape when he comes back 
to consciousness after a period of insensibility. It was 
so with Linn when he wakened to find himself, much to 
his surprise, still in the land of the living. 

On first opening his eyes he believed it to be all a 
dream, and even when he was convinced otherwise, he 
was still too dazed and weak to comprehend what it 
meant. 

He was lying on a rude litter, with his head slightly 
elevated on a pillow fashioned out of a bunch of grass. 
He was in his stocking feet, trousers, and blue flannel 
shirt ; his boots and jacket were missing. 

The litter was made of boughs fastened together with 
thongs of hide, and it was being borne along with a 
rapid but easy motion by four stalwart Sioux warriors, 
each of whom held a corner. In fr6nt were a score of 
braves, some on foot, and some on ponies, and Linn 
knew by the sound that more Indians were following 
behind. 

The party was pushing on steadily and swiftly, as 
though fearing pursuit, and at present the course was 
through a lonely mountain defile. To right and left of 
the narrow trail towered pine-clad hills and precipitous 
cliffs. A silvery glimmer, straight overhead in the 
cloudy sky, marked the location of the sun. 

After noticing these things, Linn next discovered that 


An Unpleasant Awakening. 183 

his head pained him terribly, and that a moist bandage 
was wrapped around it above his eyes and ears. He 
carefully inserted a finger under the bandage and found 
a ragged hole in the centre of a swollen mound of flesh. 

The shock of this discovery almost unnerved him for 
an instant, but he was determined to learn the extent of 
his injury. So, in spite of the stinging pain, he probed 
and squeezed the wound until he was satisfied that the 
skull was neither broken nor fractured. 

The effort brought on a spell of faintness and dizziness, 
and he lay perfectly still for some minutes, with closed 
eyes. The rest brought a partial return of strength, and 
after puzzling his brain for a time to account for his pres- 
ent situation, full recollection suddenly burst upon him. 
He remembered the fighting in the ravine, the climb up 
the cliff with Reily, and the brief scrimmage out on the 
verge of the plain. 

“Yes, it’s all clear now/’ he reflected. “I was thrown 
off my pony, and when I got up Reily was galloping off 
like mad, and the Sioux were closing in on me. A shot 
brought me down, and after that I remembered nothing 
It was a mighty close call for my life, too. The bullet 
must have struck my forehead and glanced off. I never 
imagined that I had so hard a skull. jr 

“But why. didn’t the Indians finish and scalp me, as is 
their usual custom ? That’s a hard thing to understand. 
I would like to know why they kept me alive — not for 
any good, I’ll warrant. And all this happened hours 
ago,” he added, in surprise, as he glanced up at the hid- 
den outlines of the sun. “It must be high noon already. 
1 wish I knew if Reily escaped and warned the relief force 
in time. And I wonder if the poor fellows up the ravine 
were rescued.” 

But there was no answer to be had to these questions, 
or to the many other things that puzzled the young of- 


184 An Unpleasant Awakening. 

ficer. He knew that the Indians could not speak his 
tongue, and that they would give him no information 
had they been able to do so. He lay still for a time, re- 
flecting on the past and worrying himself not a little 
about the future. Finally a burning thirst began to tor- 
ture him, and after enduring it as long as he could, he 
determined to have a drink. 

“Water! water!” he called, raising himself on one el- 
bow, and touching his fingers to his lips. 

The two foremost litter-bearers glanced quickly 
around, and one of them uttered a guttural shout in a 
loud tone. The effect of this was to bring the leader of 
the party back to the litter. He was an elderly war- 
rior of superb build, with a grave and dignified face. He 
was decked out in war paint and barbaric finery, and was 
mounted on a handsome and spirited horse. There was 
a huge scar on his chest, and by this sign — which he had 
heard spoken of in the mess-room at Fort Sandiman — 
Linn now knew that he was in the presence of Flying 
Thunder himself, the famous and terrible chief of the 
Ogallalla Sioux. 

“So this is Deerfoot’s father!” the lad reflected. • 
“Don’t I wish I could speak the Dakota tongue! If 
Flying Thunder knew what friends Deerfoot and I had 
been he might let me go, or, at least, he would be likely 
to protect me from harm.” 

But Linn did not build any hopes on this, for he knew 
that an interchange of conversation was impossible. And 
the great chief was certainly in an angry and revengeful 
mood to judge from his cruel expression as he glanced 
keenly at the prisoner. 

He halted his braves by a gesture, and gave a few 
orders in a low tone. A riderless pony was brought for- 
ward from the rear, and Linn was roughly transferred to 
the back of the animal. He was given a drink of water 


An Unpleasant Awakening. 185 

from an army canteen, and a small quantity of dried meat 
was poked into his mouth. Then his hands were bound 
behind him, and his feet were tied together under the 
pony’s belly. 

But brief time was lost in this operation. The litter 
was thrown away, Flying Thunder rode back to the head 
of hjs braves, and the whole party moved on again at a 
rapid speed, one of the Indians leading the prisoner’s 
pony. 

Linn heartily wished himself back on the litter again, 
but after a time his position became less uncomfortable. 
His head did not pain him so much, and the cool breeze 
blowing in his face prevented him from becoming faint 
or dizzy. He could not tell how many Indians were be- 
hind him, for when he attempted to look back, a brave 
who was riding alongside struck him severely in the face. 
But he judged that the party numbered about fifty, and 
he made one discovery that gave him very unpleasant 
sensations. Of the score of warriors who rode in front, 
at least four had fresh scalps dangling at their belts. 

This gave Linn a clew to the situation, and after think- 
ing it over shrewdly, he formed a conclusion that did not 
leave room for much doubt. 

‘Tm saitsfied now that Reily escaped, and reached the 
relief party in time,” he said to himself, “and what hap- 
pened afterward is just this. There was a fight in the 
neighborhood of the ravine,- and though the Indians got 
a few scalps, they were beaten off. Then they broke up 
in detachments and scattered in different directions. 
This party is' heading for some safe and remote hiding- 
place in the mountains, and from the speed they are mak- 
ing, it’s not likely they will be overtaken by the soldiers. 
As for my brave comrades up on the ledge — why, by this 
time they have been rescued, of course. I shouldn’t 
wonder if they had been relieved before daylight.” 


1 86 An Unpleasant Awakening. 

All this was sound reasoning, as far as it went, but it 
did not make Linn’s hopes any brighter. On the con- 
trary, the situation looked very black indeed to the lad. 
He was a helpless prisoner on his way to some impene- 
trable mountain fastness. Reily would report him dead, 
and, therefore, no special pursuit would be made in his 
behalf. There was little chance of rescue otherwise, 
since Flying Thunder and his braves would take good 
care to keep out of the way of the soldiers. 

“The worst of it is, that my life may be in danger,” 
Linn went on to reason. “I believe they hold me re- 
sponsible for Reily ’s getting away to warn the troops, 
and took me prisoner so that they might gratify their 
revenge at leisure. The Sioux are not much in the habit 
of torturing white prisoners in these times, but they may 
make an exception in my case. Well, it won’t do any 
good to think about it, so I’ll try to look on the bright 
side. I may be rescued’ or perhaps I will find a chance 
to escape. And if I get back to my command I’ll have 
witnesses enough to clear me from any false charges 
Captain Norman may bring.” 

By such reflections as the above Linn managed to keep 
up his spirits fairly well as he rode on through the long 
afternoon. But he suffered terribly from his wound and 
from his cramped and awkward position, and finally one 
of his captors had to mount behind him to keep him from 
falling. 

The trail led through deep gorges and over precipit- 
ous cliffs, where a misstep would have meant death, and 
the general direction was to the northwest. Twice 
smaller parties of Sioux joined Flying Thunder’s band 
from the mountain passes to the south, and just at twi- 
light the whole cavalcade rode down into a little valley 
surrounded by lofty hills, and with a sparkling river 
flowing between level grass land. 


An Unpleasant Awakening 0 187 

Across the stream a score of lodges and teepees 
nestled at the base of the opposite cliff, and from these a 
swarm of squaws, children, and old men poured out to 
welcome the returning braves. At sight of Linn they 
screeched with fury and assailed him with showers of 
dirt and stones. 

But his captors bore the lad safely through the rabble, 
and placed him, in a fainting condition, within a lodge 
made of painted skins. His legs and arms were un- 
bound, and he was left to rest on a couch of dried grass. 


¥ 


CHAPTER XXX. 


A THRILLING RECOGNITION. 

Linn slept soundly all through the night, and when he 
woke the next morning he felt better and stronger than 
he had 1 hoped to feel. He was still a little stiff from his 
long ride, and his head was sore and swollen; but the 
wound showed signs of healing, and there was no feverish 
inflammation. The cloudy and rainy weather was over, 
and a strong wind was blowing. It*was already noon, to 
judge from the sunlight that entered through the smoke- 
hole in the roof of the lodge. 

Linn had not been awake long before a hideous old 
squaw brought him a bowl of venison broth. He ate this 
with a keen appetite, and after the squaw’s departure, 
a medicine-man, arrayed in all his fantastic glory, en- 
tered the lodge. 

But he did not perform any of his outlandish rites and 
ceremonies. Instead of that he washed the prisoner’s 
wound, and bandaged it skillfully with a paste made of 
green herbs. The next visitor was Flying Thunder him- 
self. He stalked gravely into the lodge, inspected the lad 
pretty much as a butcher might size up a plump calf, and 
then silently departed with the medicine-man. 

Linn saw no one else that day, and of the four days that 
followed, each was more monotonous than the rest. 
Morning and afternoon the squaw brought him a plenti- 
ful meal, and the medicine-man bathed and dressed his 
wound. The whinnying of the ponies and the voices of 
the Indian children at play were 'the only sounds he 


A Thrilling Recognition. ^ 189 . 

heard from outside, and but once did he get a brief 
glimpse through the flaps of the door-way. Then he 
saw the lodges scattered about the grassy plain, with the 
Sioux moving here and there among them, and in the dis- 
tance the swift and sparkling river, bounded on the farther 
shore by lofty and timbered hills. 

His limbs were not bound, and this showed how safe 
a prisoner he was. He knew that escape by day was 
out of the question, and he soon learned that it was 
equally so at any other time. For on the second night, 
when he ventured to lift the flaps of skin and peep out, 
he saw that the lodge was guarded by half a dozen armed 
warriors. 

When the fifth day of his captivity dawned Linn was 
in a measure resigned, and he was in better spirits than 
he had been yet. He felt strong and vigorous, and his 
wound was almost entirely healed, thanks to the skill 
and attention of the medicine-man. 

“It’s no fun to be kept in close confinement,” he said 
to himself, “but I ought to be thankful it’s no worse. I 
don’t believe my life is in danger, for if the Indians in- 
tended to kill me, they would have done it long ago. I 
wouldn’t mind it so much if I knew what the soldiers 
were doing. As like as not they’re still chasing around 
the country on a vain hunt for the Sioux, and of course 
they believe me to be dead. It’s hard to tell what the 
outcome of this thing will be, and all I can do is to wait 
in patience. The Brules and Ogallallas must be split 
up into a good many parties, to judge from the small force 
that is here, and as long as they continue those tactics 
they can avoid the troops. When cold weather comes 
they will likely go back peaceably to their reservations, 
and I am sure to be released then — if not before.” 

But about noon something happened to break the mo- 
notony. Eager shouting was heard among the lodges, 


190 A Thrilling Recognition. 

and as the sound swelled louder the tramp of horses’ hoofs 
was blended with it. Then the tumult changed to cries 
of unmistakable rage and lamentation, and these contin- 
ued in the near vicinity of the lad’s place of confinement, 
making him feel very ill at ease. 

“I can guess what it means,” Linn reflected, “and I 
know now w 7 hy I have seen nothing of Flying Thunder 
for the past four days. He and some of his braves have 
been out on a scout, and they have met the whole or a 
part of Major Dallas’ command. They have returned 
minus a part of their number, and the women and chil- 
dren are mourning for the dead. And they will likely 
want to make an end of me next. It’s not a pleasant 
prospect.” 

But the day wore on, and the only person to visit the 
lodge was the old squaw. Her manner was sullen and 
spiteful as she put down the food and hurried away. 
The wailing lasted at intervals until dark, and then sounds 
of a different nature rose on the night air — guttural 
shouts, weird and frenzied chanting, and the dismal ac- 
companiments of rattles and tom-toms. 

Linn ventured to peep cautiously beneath the front 
flaps of the lodge. Three Indians were on guard at the 
very door and beyond them he saw several score of braves 
dancing and yelling around the blazing fires. Until a 
late hour he sat up listening to the wild turmoil, oppressed 
by a feeling of dread that would not be shaken off, and 
finally he fell asleep from very exhaustion. 

It was not a restful slumber, for terrible dreams coursed 
in quick succession through his troubled brain. From 
one of these he woke wdth a start, wet with perspiration 
and trembling in every limb, to find the bright light of 
day streaming through the crevices of the lodge. 

As he sat up, looking stupidly around him, the door- 
flaps were pulled aside by two stalwart braves. In silence 


A Thrilling Recognition. 191 

they caught hold of the lad, and hurried him roughly 
into the open air. The sun was an hour high, and a flood 
of golden light was on the green plain, and the sparkling 
river, and the wooded heights that towered to meet the 
sky. The trees and grass rustled in the crisp breeze. 

With four score of Indians yelling and dancing around 
him — men, women and children — Linn was dragged 
across the plain to the brink of the river, and then bound 
to a thick stake. The squaws and children were driven 
a short distance back, and the braves gathered nearer 
in a half-circle, their partly naked bodies hideous with 
daubs and streaks of paint, and their faces distorted with 
rage and hatred. 

Up to this time Linn had been too dazed to compre- 
hend what it all meant, but now the awful truth burst 
upon him with stunning force. He was to be put to 
death by torture! 

In this terrible moment he tried hard to hide his fear, 
and to show his enemies how a soldier could face death. 
But his limbs trembled in spite of him, and his cheeks 
turned ghastly pale. He knew that entreaty or appeal 
would be worse than useless. He read relentless hatred 
and cruelty in the glances of the ferocious warriors. 

The ordeal was not long delayed. Amid the hoots 
and jeers of the squaws and the mocking taunts of the 
men, a circle of dry fagots was built about the stake, 
reaching almost to the captive’s middle. Next a warrior 
approached with a blazing torch, but just as he was about 
to ignite the pile, an interruption came. 

Flying Thunder stopped the proceeding by a gesture, 
and then pointed gravely to the south. The eyes of ev- 
ery Sioux followed the chief’s outstretched arm, and Linn 
glanced in the same direction, cheered by a wild hope 
that help might be coming. 

Horsemen were in sight, sure enough, but they did 


192 A Thrilling Recognition. 

not wear the blue of Uncle Sam’s army. Through the 
narrow mountain pass by which the river left the val- 
ley, scarce fifty yards away, came a score of painted 
Sioux, mounted on fleet ponies. Nearer and nearer they 
galloped, shouting and waving their rifles at the band 
that stood around the doomed captive. 

The leader of the party was a tall and youthful* war- 
rior, with the build and physique of an Apollo, and with 
features of more than ordinary gravity and intelligence. 
His war-bonnet trailed nearly to the ground, and his 
eyes flashed with exultant pride. At the head of his 
braves he rode up to Flying Thunder, and checked his 
pony by a single jerk. 

Linn saw the handsome young Sioux and twisted his 
head to get a better view. For a few seconds he stared, 
a red flush mounting from cheek to forehead. Then posi- 
tive recognition banished doubt, and in that moment of 
tremendous joy and surprise his heart throbbed as though 
it would burst. 

“Deerfoot!” he cried, hoarsely. “Deerfoot, save me!” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 
linn's fallow prisoner. 

Linn was not mistaken. The leader of the newly ar- 
rived band was indeed Deerfoot — the one-time pupil of 
the Carlisle Indian School, whose body was supposed to 
be lying in the underground depths of Alexander’s Cave. 
The stalwart young Sioux turned in the direction of the 
appealing cry, his proud expression unchanged, except 
for a slight knitting of the brows. Then he swiftly dis- 
mounted from his pony, gave the bridle to Flying Thun- 
der, and gained the side of the white captive by a couple 
of rapid strides. 

“You! Linn Hilliard!” he exclaimed, in a tone that 
was a mixture of surprise and pleasure. “You here— way 
out in the West!” 

“Yes, I’m here, Deerfoot/' Linn answered, “and you’ve 
come just in time to save me. They were going to 
torture me to death — burn me at the stake. You’ll help 
me, won’t you? For the sake of old times, use your in- 
fluence. Flying Thunder is your father, and he’ll do what 
you ask him.” 

“Me sorry to see you wearing soldier clothes,” grunted 
Deerfoot. “Me hate the blue-coats. My father hate 
them, and all his tribe. But you were a good friend, 
Linn. Wait, me see what can do.” 

He strode back to Flying Thunder, and the two began 
to converse in low and earnest tones. Linn watched 
them anxiously, and the surrounding Indians looked on 
with grave and ominous attention. The suspense was 


194 


Linn’s Fellow Prisoner. 


not of long duration. The old chief lifted one hand, 
and spoke a few loud words. 

As he paused a murmur of dissatisfaction from many 
of his hearers rose and died away. Then the Sioux who 
held the burning torch dashed it sullenly to the ground, 
and two other braves cut the captive loose from the 
stake. 

“Your life is safe, Linn,” said Deerfoot, coming for- 
ward again. “But you are still a prisoner — me no can 
set you free. Follow this way. We have a talk to- 
gether.” 

Linn had not expected to gain freedom, and the knowl- 
edge that he was not to be put to death was enough to 
make him supremely happy. At Deerfoot’s heels he 
walked swiftly through the crowd of braves, women and 
children, whose hatred and anger were now confined 
to scowling looks and low-muttered grunts. 

The band of mounted Sioux urged their tired ponies 
forward from the rear, but Linn did not once glance 
backward. Had he done so he might have made a most 
wonderful and thrilling discovery and one that would 
assuredly have changed his future actions and saved him 
much sorrow and self-reproach. 

Up the grassy slope and in among the huddled tepees 
pressed the chiefs son and his companion, and finally 
they entered the lodge from which Linn had been 
dragged a short time before. Deerfoot drew the skins 
tightly against the entrance. Then, with his brawny arms 
folded on his naked chest, he stared thoughtfully at the 
white lad. 

“You better stayed at Carlisle,” he said, after a long 
pause. 

“It’s not my fault that I didn’t,” Linn replied, “and 
you’ll understand when I tell you the story. But first 
I want to thank you for saving my life. I’ll never forget 


Linn’s Fellow Prisoner. 


195 


it, and I hope to repay you some day. I wonder if you 
know how it feels to be tied to a stake, ready to be burned 
to death. It’s an awful sensation/’ 

Deerfoot nodded. 

“You no burn new,” he said. “How you come here, 
Linn?” 

“I’ll tell you in a minute, old fellow. How did you 
come here? — that’s what I want to know. I thought you 
were dead, and every one else thinks the same, both 
in the East and out here on the plains. I could hardly 
believe my eyes at first,’ when you came riding into the 
camp. I’m awfully glad you’re alive, but I don’t under- 
stand how you escaped.” 

“Not easy to kill Indian,” Deerfpot answered. “Me 
fall down hole in cavern, where deep water was. Me 
swim and wade long ways in dark, go this way and that ; 
think me never see light. At night me come out far 
down the creek. Run far off from bad school and Cap- 
tain Cameron.” 

“And then what? How in the world did you manage 
to get away out here — thousands of miles — without being 
captured?” 

“Too long a story to tell, Linn. Me get other clothes 
at farm-house. Me light-colored — like negro man. Walk 
some, ride some on freight cars. Hide in woods and 
mountains, beg food to eat. At last me reach Missouri 
River, and soon find my people.” 

“How long ago was that? Before the outbreak?” 

“Just when my father take the warpath with Gray 
Fox,” Deerfoot explained. “Me go with them. Help to 
kill and scalp a heap. . Me young chief now — hate all 
white men but you.” 

“I’m sorry to hear you talk that way,” said Linn, per- 
ceiving that Deerfoot was more of a savage than ever, 
and that he burned to revenge his fancied ill-treatment 


Linn’s Fellow Prisoner. 


196 

at the Indian school. “I wish you had come a little 
sooner. Then Flying Thunder might have refused to 
join Gray Fox, and there would have been no outbreak.” 

“Flying Thunder glad to go on the warpath,” mut- 
tered Deerfoot. “Nearly all the Sioux out now. They 
stay out through winter — kill heap soldiers. No go back 
to reservation. Mebe find new hunting-grounds over 
the Canada border in the spring.” 

“I hardly think you will,” Linn imprudently said. “The 
troops are sure to get the upper hand long before the 
winter ends. Your people may be outwitting them now 


“No talk that way,” Deerfoot interrupted, sharply, and 
with a frown, “You tell me why you wear soldier, clothes, 
Linn — why you come away from Carlisle.” 

“I came away because I quarreled with my father,” 
Linn answered. “He disowned me and drove me from 
home. But he was unjust and in the wrong, though he 
did not know that. So then I enlisted in the army. f l had 
always wanted to be a soldier, and this outbreak gave me 
a lift up the ladder of promotion. I was made a corporal 
not long ago.” 

He went on to speak of his life at Fort Sandim^n, and 
of his recent adventur.es, touching briefly on the fight up 
the gorge, and the escape from the ledge of himself and 
Private Reily. 

“Me sorry to hear this,” said Deerfoot, who had lis- 
tened to the narrative in grim silence. “That why my 
people want to burn you at the stake — because the other 
man with you get away to bring soldiers.” 

“Then Reily escaped, did he?” inquired Linn, forcing 
himself to speak without any trace of the joy that was 
in his heart. “And he brought the relief force? Tell 
me what happened, Deerfoot. Was there a fight?” 

“Much big fight,” Deerfoot answered sullenly. “Heaps 


Linn’s Fellow Prisoner. 


197 

of soldiers come — shoot and shoot — beat the Sioux off. 
Lots of my people killed, and lots of soldiers/’ 

“And the soldiers up in the valley on the ledge — were 
they rescued?” Linn demanded. 

Deerfoot shook his head. 

“All killed,” he muttered. “Some of Gray Fox’s braves 
climb up rocks 1 before daylight — before soldiers come to 
help. Me not there then, but next day me see the scalps. 
So many.” 

He held up five fingers and a thumb. 

“All six of them dead,” Linn exclaimed, hoarsely. 
“My poor, brave comrades.” 

He did not doubt the story, and for a moment or two 
he could not speak. He felt a burning rage and thirst 
for vengeance as he pictured the death struggle at the 
base of the cliff, and tears of pity forced themselves into 
his eyes. 

“What has happened during the past week?” he asked, 
finally. “Where are the soldiers now?” 

“Everywhere,” replied Deerfoot. “They hunt and 
hunt, and can’t find Indians. Sioux too cunning for 
them. They hide here and there in scattered bands. 
Mebbe come together soon.” 

“And where have you been while I was a prisoner?” 

“Me out on war-path with braves,” was the proud re- 
sponse. “Me kill and scalp like big chief. Me take 
prisoner ” 

Deerfoot paused abruptly, and came a step nearer. 

“Linn, you no tell me all,” he said, in a crafty tone. 
“Why your father drive you from home? Did you steal 
that money?” 

“Do you think I’m a thief?” Linn cried, indignantly. 
“You know me better than that. I wouldn’t have sus- 
pected you of such a thing. Do you believe I stole that 
money? Tell me.” 


1 98 Linn’s Fellow Prisoner. 

Deerfoot returned neither denial nor assent, and Linn, 
eager to clear himself in the eyes of the young Indian, 
plunged precipitately into a confession that he was des- 
tined to regret bitterly when it was too late. 

"Did you never suspect the truth, Deerfoot?” he ex- 
claimed. "Did you think Bruce Cameron had forgiven 
you for beating him in the wrestling match that day? 
He and Steve Halsey planned to steal the captain’s 
money, and fasten the crime on you. That was why 
they helped you to escape, and they gave you part of 
the money so that if you were caught the evidence of 
your guilt would be plain. 

"But I got mixed up in the scheme myself, and had 
to suffer with you. I was in Captain Cameron’s room 
that afternoon, and saw where he put the money. And in 
the evening, when I followed Bruce and Steve into the 
grounds, and overheard part of the plot, I was captured 
by the guard. The captain let me go, and when the story 
came out the next day I saw through the whole thing. 
I started off to hunt Bruce and Steve, intending to make 
them confess and clear you. I found them at the creek, 
and you know what happened then. Steve hid some of 
the money in my pocket, and between the two they made 
out that you and I together had committed the robbery, 
and that it was I who planned your escape. They stuck 
to the lie, and I couldn’t prove my innocence. My father 
believed me to be a thief, and he- — he told me never to 
darken his door again — — ” 

Linn stopped, overcome by the memory of the wrongs 
he had suffered. Deerfoot watched him J:or a moment 
with an impassive face, and then said, quietly: 

"Me never think you a thief, Linn. Me believe this 
story true. You say Bruce put this crime on me and 
you? He make me near lose my life in cave He make it 


Linn’s Fellow Prisoner. 199 

so Carlisle people think you stole the money, and your 
father drive you from home?” 

“Yes, that's just it,” replied Linn. “Do you under- 
stand?” 

“Not quite, Linn — mebbe almost. You tell it all 
again.” 

So Linn went over the narrative a second time, re- 
lating in detail what had happened on that fatal night, 
and the subsequent day, making it as plain and simple 
as he could. 

“Me understand flow,” muttered Deerfoot, and as he 
spoke his face was stern with wrath, and there was a 
flashing fire in his black eyes. “Me good friend to you, 
Linn,” he added. “You took my part one day long ago 
— when Bruce say I wrestled him foul. Me no forget 
that. Me save your life just now, and me do more. 
You wait here. Me come back soon.” 

With this the young Indian crept through the door- 
way of the .lodge, and vanished. Linn sat down at the 
rear end and waited, puzzling himself to account for the 
strange words of his friend, and puzzling in vain. Not 
a glimmer of the strange and amazing truth entered his 
head. 

Fully five minutes passed, and then the flaps were 
thrown back as Deerfoot entered the lodge. Behind him 
came two braves dragging between them a white cap- 
tive — a quaking, pale-faced lad, with disheveled hair, 
scared and tearful eyes, and arms bound together at the 
wrists. And that wretched captive was Bruce Cameron. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


VAIN PLEADING. 

“Linn!” 

“Bruce!” 

That was all they could say in the first moment of 
astonishment. The lad who had been so deeply wronged, 
and the recreant friend who had wronged him, stood 
gazing at each other with flushed faces, almost doubting 
the evidence of their own eyes. Deerfoot watched them 
with a grim and evil smile, and the two braves squatted 
indifferently against the door of the lodge. 

“How did you get here, Linn?” Bruce asked, hoarsely. 
“No one knew what had become of you — ah, you are in 
uniform. I understand it all now. You enlisted in the 
army and were sent West. And it was my fault — my base 
cowardice and lies that drove you to it.” 

“Yes, I enlisted,” said Linn, quietly. “That accounts 
for my presence here. But you, Bruce? I thought you 
were still at Carlisle!” 

“No, we left there at the end of July. Father was 
ordered to Fort Fremont, in Western Montana. And a 
week ago he started with three troops of cavalry to join 
the field column under Major Dallas. I persuaded him 
to take me with him, and this is the result. Day before 
yesterday I was out with a scouting party, and a lot of 
Indians led by Deerfoot surrounded us. He recognized 
me and spared my life, but all the soldiers were killed 
and scalped. I was brought here this morning, and I 
suppose my father believes me dead.” 


201 


Vain Pleading. 

“Linn, won’t you forgive me?” Bruce went on im- 
ploringly. “I can never undo what I have done, but I 
have suffered terribly from remorse and sorrow. I was 
a dastard and a coward to fasten the crime on you, 
but it was more Steve Halsey than me. I was under 
his influence, and I was afraid of his threats. It is not 
too late to clear you, I hope. If ever I get the chance 
I will make a full confession. For the sake of our old 
friendship say you forgive me, Linn. Won’t you?” 

“You are asking a great deal,” replied Linn. “I am 
afraid you don’t realice the injury you have done me ” 

“Yes, I do,” cried Bruce. “I branded you as a thief, 
drove you from home, ruined you. I have not had an 
hour’s peace since then. I have thought of my sins night 
and day. I know it is asking too much of you to forgive 
me, but if you won’t do that, at least use your influence 
to help me — to save my life. It is in danger, Linn. When 
I was captured Deerfoot assured me I would merely be 
kept a prisoner until the trouble was over. But a little 
while ago he came to me in a terrible rage, and declared 
that he was going to have me burned at the stake. He 
accused me of plotting revenge against him, and of fas- 
tening the theft of the money on you and him. He knows 
all, but he did not know it before. You must have told 
him, Linn.” 

“And so I did, God help me,” cried Linn. 

He covered his face with his hands, and a hoarse sob 
burst from his white lips. Like a flash he realized his 
mistake, and saw the dreadful consequences of his im- 
pulsive words. He understood the plan of revenge — both 
for himself and Deerfoot — that was working in the lat- 
ter’s savage mind. 

“I forgive you, Bruce,” he said, “even as I must ask 
you to forgive me. But what I have done was uninten- 
tional and without a spark of malice. I confessed all to 


202 


Vain Pleading. 

Deerfoot because I saw that he believed me to be a thief. 
J did not dream that you were in his power — that you 
were anywhere nearer than Carlisle. Had I known the 
truth, I would have kept silence at any cost/’ 

“I am sure of that,” replied Bruce. “It is not in you 
to do anything mean. And you will try to save me, Linn, 
won’t you?” 

“As far as lies in my power I will,” promised Linn. 
“You shan't be put to death if I can help it. Possibly 
this threat is only intended to scare you a little and 
punish you for ” 

“No scare him,” interrupted Deerfoot, whose face had 
grown dark and sullen during the above conversation. 
“You no talk this way, Linn, else we not be friends. 
Bruce make lies and wrong me — wrong you, too. He 
must die, so you and me be revenged.” 

“But I have forgiven him, Deerfoot,” Linn interceded, 
hoarsely, “and if I, who am the most deeply injured, can 
forgive him, surely you can. You lived with the white 
men long enough to learn how they treat their enemies. 
Jt is nobler to pardon than to take revenge. Keep Bruce 
a prisoner, if you will, but don’t be so wicked and cruel 
as to put him to death.” 

“He must die,” the Indian muttered, doggedly. Me 
think you like to see him tortured, Linn. But you have 
weak squaw-heart, like all pale-faces. No more talk 
about it now. My mind made up — must have revenge.” 

“Don’t say that,” cried Bruce, as he burst into cow- 
ardly tears, and sank limply down at the Indian’s feet. 
“Spare my life, De-erfoot — I am sorry I wronged you — I 
will do anything for you — I will be your friend as long 
as I live. Only don’t kill me— think how you would feel 
in my place, and be merciful ” 

Deerfoot spurned the weeping and abject lad with his 
foot, and made a swift sign to the two braves. They 


Vain Pleading. 2103 

instantly laid hold of the captive, and began to drag him 
from the lodge. 

“Linn! Linn! save me!” shrieked Bruce. “Don’t let 
them take me away. I will never see you again — I will be 
tortured to death ” 

“Don’t despair,” cried Linn. “I will do all I can for 
you.” 

He stepped forward as though to interfere, but Deer- 
foot gave him a shove that threw him violently on his 
back. By the time he was on his feet again the Indians 
and their prisoner had left the lodge, and Bruce’s pitiful 
cries were growing faint in the distance. 

With a pallid face, and with limbs that trembled from 
the unnerving ordeal he had passed through, Linn turned 
to Deerfoot. By an effort he kept down his rising pas- 
sion, and pleaded long and earnestly for Bruce’s life, 
using all the arguments he could think of. Finding that 
his eloquence was of no avail, he lost his temper and 
prudence, and made rash threats of speedy and terrible 
vengeance by the soldiers. 

But pleading and threats alike were wasted on Deer- 
foot’s dogged and savage nature. He listened in proud 
silence, and with a grim set of the lips and a flash of the 
eye that betokened an immovable resolution. 

“Enough,” he said, finally, with a wave of the hand. 
“You talk no more, Linn. May as well go out and talk 
to river down yonder. Mebbe river listen, but not Deer- 
foot. Me think you have brave heart like Indian. Me 
think you want revenge — like to see Bruce tortured. Me 
give you that chance because you good friend to me 
once. Now me know you have heart like squaw. We 
not the same friends any more, but me not put you to 
death like Bruce.” 

“If you won’t save Bruce, you must kill me, too,” 


204 Vain Pleading. 

said Linn. “I brought this on him by my own folly, 
and I will share his fate.” 

“Not so, Linn. Me still like you a little, though you 
have squaw heart. Me remember what good friend you 
were at Carlisle ” 

“If you remember that, then be a good friend to me 
now,” interrupted Linn. “For my sake — for the sake of 
our past friendship — spare Bruce’s life. To burn him at 
fhe stake will be a horrible revenge. To keep him a 
prisoner will he punishment enough for the wrong he 
did you — more *han enough. Forgive him, Deerfoot 


“No,” hissed the Indian, his eyes gleaming like living 
coals. “He must die at the stake. I have spoken. My 
father, Flying Thunder, has spoken. It must be. You 
say no more, Linn, else I wear your scalp at my belt.” 

As he spoke he whipped out a long-bladed knife, and 
repeatedly stabbed the air. His voice was husky and low 
with rage, and on his dusky features could be read the 
barbaric and blood-thirsty instinct of generations of law- 
less and untamed Sioux. For a moment Linn actually 
trembled for his life, and prepared for self-defense. He 
said nothing, for the reason that he knew further appeal 
to be absolutely useless. 

Presently Deerfoot sheathed the knife, and in a slightly 
less passionate tone, he said: 

“Now that settled, Linn. Me tell you what do with 
you. Me make a big discovery when out on war-path. 
Me find whole army of soldiers in camp where can easily 
be trapped. They tired and worn out — no leave camp for 
two days, mebbe. Me send word to Gray Fox, then come 
back to tell Flying Thunder. Soon all the Sioux war- 
riors go surround soldiers — cut them to pieces.” 

Linn gave a slight start. 

“This must be true,” he reflected. “It is likely that 


Vain Pleading. 205 

Captain Cameron and his party have joined Major Dal- 
las, and the column is resting in camp after the tiresome 
fighting and marching of the past week. If the Indians 
really have them in a trap, and can surround them, it 
will be the Custer affair over again. Oh, if I could only 
escape to warn them ! But I don’t see any chance ” 

He looked into Deerfoot’s face, and asked, carelessly : 

“Where are the soldiers? Near here?” 

“Ten miles that way,” replied the Indian, pointing due 
south. “They encamped in hollow — stream on one side, 
and mountain on the other. When midnight comes my 
people burn Bruce at stake, then march to fight sol- 
diers. Gray Fox come from other direction at same time. 
In early morning we fall on soldiers — cut them to pieces.” 

After a pause, Deerfoot added: 

“We leave you here with old men and squaws, Linn. 
By and by we come back. Then we adopt you in my 
tribe — make you Indian like me. If you no do that, we 
keep you prisoner all time.” 

“All right, Deerfoot,” replied Linn. “Til think it 
over and give you an answer when you come back. It’s 
no use to talk any more about Bruce, so we’ll let the mat- 
ter drop. I have the satisfaction of knowing that I did 
all I could for him. But I want you to grant me one 
favor. When a white man is going to die, his friends like 
to bid him farewell alone. Will you let me see Bruce 
for a few minutes this evening to bid him good-by. I 
have paper and pencil with me, and perhaps he will write 
a confession that he stole the money. If he does, I will 
send it home to Carlisle, and then my friends will know 
1 am not a thief.” 

Linn waited with ill-concealed anxiety for the answer, 
for on that hung the success or failure of a plan that had 
flashed into his fertile mind — a plan of heroic generosity 


206 Vain Pleading. 

and of a daring and boldness that was almost inconceiv- 
able. 

“Yes, me take you to see Bruce,” Deerfoot replied, 
unsuspiciously, after a short pause. “Me wait outside 
lodge while you give him farewell and let him make con- 
fession. You go with me now, Linn?” 

“No, not now. I don’t want to s,ee him so soon after 
what happened here. I would rather give him time to 
realize his fate, and prepare for it. And I need rest and 
sleep badly. Better come back at sunset, Deerfoot, I will 
go with you then.” " 

“All right, Linn,” was the ready response. “By time 
sun go down my people not be so angry at you — not get 
mad and want to kill you when they see you go by. Me 
come then.” 

With this Deerfoot stalked out of the lodge, and Linn 
heard him giving guttural instructions to the braves who 
were on guard duty. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


HOW UNN REPAID HIS WRONGS. 

Linn had spoken the truth when he told Deerfoot that 
he needed rest and slumber badly, for he had slept but 
little the previous night, and the recent ordeal at the 
stake— when a terrible death confronted him — had been 
a severe shock to his nervous system. But he had an- 
other motive in postponing the interview until after su'n- 
set — namely, to gain time — and so far it had succeeded. 

However, the thought of Bruce’s impending fate, and 
the daring plan he had vowed to do his best to carry out 
kept him awake for a large part of the day. Hour after 
hour found him crouched on the floor of the lodge, his 
face haggard, his mind tormented with doubts that were 
only too well founded. 

It was long past noon when drowsiness finally over- 
powered him, and he rolled over on his side in a state 
of merciful unconsciousness. It was not a restful sleep, 
for hideous dreams tormented him constantly. From one 
of these he suddenly wakened, bathed in perspiration, to 
realize vaguely that Deerfoot was standing over him. 

“Me here, Linn. Me take you now to see Bruce.” 

“All right,” muttered Linn, stupidly, huddling himself 
together as though for another sleep. But for all that 
he was now wide awake, and he had seen at a quick 
glance, through the partly open door-way, that a glim- 
mer of daylight was still disputing possession with the 
falling shades of evening. At all hazards he must gain a 
little more time, and so he craftily closed his eyes and 
pretended to sleep. 


208 How Linn Repaid His Wrongs. 

“Linn, me here,” repeated Deerfoot. “Come, get up.” 

Receiving no answer, the Indian stood in silence over 
the motionless lad. Perhaps he pitied his apparent weari- 
ness, and for that reason did not waken him at once. In 
unchanging attitude he waited fully ten minutes, and then, 
stooping down, he tugged at Linn’s arm. 

“Hullo — who’s that?” exclaimed Linn, sitting up and 
rubbing his eyes. “Oh, it’s you, Deerfoot. Ready, are 
you?” 

“You sleep sound, Linn. Me call you twice.” 

“Did you?” replied Linn. “That’s too bad. I was 
sleeping like a rock.” He rose to his feet, yawned, and 
glanced into the now dark night. “If you don’t mind I’ll 
wrap this blanket around me,” he added. “The air feels 
mighty cool.” 

“Put blanket on,” assented Deerfoot. “Heap cold 
outside.” 

Linn quickly muffled the warm folds of the blanket 
around his head and shoulders, and followed Deerfoot 
from the lodge. They passed silently by the guards at 
the entrance, and strode side by side among the sur- 
rounding groups of teepees. Down the hill a couple of 
fires were burning, and the restless stirring of the hobbled 
ponies was borne faintly upward on the breeze. Here 
and there a solitary brave loomed out of the darkness, 
but, in all, scarcely a dozen w r ere up and stirring. 

“The rascals are sound asleep in the lodges,” Linn re- 
flected, with much satisfaction, “resting themselves for 
the march at midnight, and dreaming of the fun they are 
going to have in torturing Bruce. It won’t be my fault 
if they don’t get badly fooled. So far the scheme 
promises well, but the worst is to come.” 

A moment later Deerfoot paused by a small teepee of 
skins that stood near the outer verge of the camp, and 
was guarded by only two braves, who squatted before the 


How Linn Repaid His Wrongs. 209 

entrance ; a rifle lay beside each. Linn noted hastily that 
the spot was at no great distance from where the river 
left the valley at its southern extremity. 

“Bruce in there,” said Deerfoot. “Soon be time to 
put him to death. You want to speak with him alone?” 

“Yes, I would rather, if you don’t mind. If you go 
in, too, there will likely be another scene.” 

“All right. You go alone, Linn. Me wait here three, 
five minutes. You want light to help him write confes- 
sion?” 

“No; I’ve given that up,” said Linn. “It would be 
cruel to ask the poor fellow to write, and I doubt if he 
could do it, anyhow. I’ll just bid him farewell, and tel! 
him to die bravely. I won’t be long.” 

Deerfoot nodded as he propped his back against a 
convenient rock. The warriors before the teepees 
moved to opposite sides, and with a fast-beating heart 
Linn entered. All was dark at first, but in an instant he 
made out the figure of the captive lying on the ground 
at his feet. 

“Are you awake, Bruce?” he whispered. “Don’t 
make any noise ” 

“Oh, is it you, Linn ?” came the eager and husky re- 
ply. “Are you going to save me ?” 

“I’m going to do my best, Bruce. Are you bound?” 

“Yes; hands and feet. I can’t stir.” 

Linn knelt down, and with nimble fingers he set to 
work at the knots. He soon had the strips of raw-hide 
loose, and after helping Bruce to rise he took the blanket 
from his own body, and muffled his friend’s head and 
" shoulders in the thick folds. 

“What are you going to do, Linn?” the latter asked. 

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Are you limber enough to 
run for your life ?” 

“Yes. if I’ve got to do it.” 


210 


How Linn Repaid His Wrongs. 

“Well, you must/’ Linn whispered. “It’s your only 
chance. Listen sharp now, and don’t miss a word. 
Walk outside as coolly as though you were me — which 
Deerfoot will think you are — and keep the blanket close. 
Deerfoot is waiting, and he will start with you toward the 
lodge where we were this morning. If he asks any ques- 
tions answer in a low voice. When you have gone about 
fifty feet trip him over — if you can — and run for life. 
Strike for the south end of the valley, and if you reach 
the narrowest part in safety, take to the river. Swim 
across, or down with the current, and get into the thick 
woods on the opposite bank. Then head straight ” 

“And what are you ’’ 

“Hush !” Linn whispered. “I’m not through. Head 
straight south, and ten miles off you will find the soldiers 
in camp between a stream and a mountain. Tell Major 
Dallas they are to be surrounded and attacked at day- 
break. The Sioux are coming in force, Flying Thunder 
from one direction, and Gray Fox from the other. 
Don’t get captured if you can help it, and look out for 
Indians on the way. The country will likely be full of 
them. Now go. Do you understand it all ?” 

Bruce fiercely caught hold of Linn’s hands. 

“Yes, I understand,” he whispered. “I understand 
that you are sacrificing yourself for me, and after the 
cruel wrong I have done you. I don’t deserve this, Linn. 
I refuse to accept ” 

“But you must, Bruce. The soldiers must be warned 
of their peril, and if I take this chance you will die at the 
stake. If you get away I may be able to escape, too.* 
Deerfoot will be terribly angry, but I don’t think he will 
kill me in case I am found here in your place. And now 
go. If he becomes suspicious, and enters, all is lost. 
Not a moment dare be wasted.” 

“I am going now,” Bruce whispered, in a voice that 


21 1 


How Linn Repaid His Wrongs. 

was broken by a sob. “In just one second. Linn, I shall 
never, never forget this. You are the best and noblest 
fellow that ever lived. If I come through all right I 
will confess everything and clear your name. If you es- 
cape, too, and I hope you will, we will be fast friends for 
life/' 

“Go! go!” entreated Linn, “for your sake — for the 
sake of the soldiers.” 

“Yes, right away. Good-by, old fellow — dear old 
friend, if I may still call you that.” 

With a last clasp of the hand Bruce strode calmly and 
uprightly from the teepee, the blanket muffling his head 
and shoulders, and the flapping skins swung shut be- 
hind him. Linn crouched down in the darkness and 
waited — waited in trembling apprehension, fearing more 
for Bruce than for himself, and recking little of his own 
fate if only his friend should escape. 

A few seconds slipped by in silence, and lengthened to 
a minute. Then a shrill and angry whoop stabbed the 
night air, followed by another and another. Instantly all 
was commotion, and yelling, and calling of guttural 
voices, and neighing and stamping of ponies, and speed- 
ing of moccasined feet over the beaten grass. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


THE TRAGEDY AT THE RIVER. 

At this critical moment Linn was too excited to remain 
longer in his crouching position. He leaped to his feet 
and crept softly to the door of the teepee. There he stood 
impatiently, quivering with dread and suspense, listening 
to the growing outcry, and trying vainly to see through 
the tightly-drawn skins. 

“So far all. has turned out as I hoped,” he reflected. 
“Bruce and I are of the same build, and in the' darkness 
he readily passed for me. I suppose no questions were 
asked, or his voice might have betrayed him. He found 
a chance to trip Deerfoot over, and now he is running 
for his life. Perhaps Deerfoot has not yet discovered the 
trick, and thinks I am the fugitive. Oh, I hope Bruce 
will escape — I hope he will get clear away to warn the 
soldiers.” 

Up to this time Linn had given but little thought to 
himself. He had remotely entertained the idea of es- 
caping, though seeing little chance of accomplishing it. 
The teepee was guarded, he had reasoned, and an attempt 
to break out would likely result in his death. The wisest 
and safest course would be to stay quietly where he was, 
face Deerfoot’s wrath, and endeavor to appease him. 

But now something happened that altered the situa- 
tion, and opened an unforeseen opportunity to the lad. 
He heard a quick movement close outside, a hasty ex- 
change of guttural speech, and then a couple of retreat- 
ing footsteps. And he knew instantly what it meant. 

“One of the two^ Indians on guard has gone off to 


The Tragedy at the River.. 213 

join the pursuit/’ he muttered, half aloud, “and the other 
fellow won’t be paying much attention to the teepee, since 
he thinks his prisoner is bound hand and foot. Here’s 
a great chance of escape! If I can get away from the 
camp without being seen I’ll defy the Indians to catch 
me. I’ll make a detour to join the soldiers, and come in 
about the same time that Bruce does — if he succeeds in 
giving his pursuers the slip. But I must act right off. 
If Bruce’s identity is discovered there will be a rush in 
this direction to secure me.” 

With Linn to think was to act, and he had formed 
the above resolution very speedily. Less than a minute 
had now elapsed from the time the outcry began, and 
the opportunity was a promising one. At once he 
dropped to his hands and knees, and began to examine 
the edges of the teepee. He was met by a check and a 
disappointment. The covering of skins was staked tightly 
to the ground on all sides. 

“If I had a knife I would be all right,” he reflected. 
“But I haven’t, and the only thing I can do is to make a 
break for it. I’m sure to make a noise if I try to force 
my way out behind, and then the game will be up. Here 
goes for good luck or bad.” 

He turned around, and with a deliberate movement 
drew apart the entrance flaps of the teepee and thrust his 
head and shoulders outside. Yes, only one Indian was 
there, squatted with his back to the doorway. He was 
looking in the direction of the tumult and bustle that per- 
vaded the camp, and his rifle lay beside him. 

The lad followed his head and shoulders with one foot, 
and was about to plant the other outside the teepee when 
a rustle of the skins betrayed him. The brave glanced 
quickly behind, to see Linn standing over him, and both 
made a desperate grab for the rifle. 

Linn caught it by the stock just as the Indian’s hands 


214 The Tragedy at the River. 

fastened on the slippery barrel. The latter was still sit- 
ting on his haunches, and the struggle toppled him over 
and made him lose his grip. Before he could rise, or 
even utter a single cry, the weapon’s heavy butt crashed 
on his head with the full force of the lad’s two muscular 
arms. 

That settled the fight. Silently, and with quivering 
limbs, the Sioux’s body settled back in the grass. Linn 
crouched low for an instant, while he looked warily on 
all sides. Evidently none had witnessed the affair. At 
a distance, among the lodges, screaming squaws and chil- 
dren were running to and fro in confusion, and angry 
warriors were flashing by in the darkness. The pursuit 
had trailed away down the slope in the direction of the 
river, and from the whooping and yelling it was apparent 
that Bruce was giving his pursuers a stern chase. 

Having satisfied himself that the coast was clear, Linn 
took possession of the Sioux’s rifle and cartridges, and 
crept to the rear end of the teepee. He prudently crawled 
twenty feet farther on hands and knees, and then, rising 
to his feet, he ran due southward across the sloping bed of 
the valley, 'keeping parallel with the river, but at a con- 
siderable distance from it. 

The tumult to his left and in the rear spurred him 
to desperate speed, and without detection he reached the 
steep and timbered hill that bounded the sequestered 
hiding-place of Flying Thunder’s band. Here he hesi- 
tated only an instant, knowing that to attempt to scale 
the height would be the least prudent course. The alter- 
native threatened danger, but it also offered a speedy out- 
let to the open country, and the saving of valuable time. 

So Linn turned to the left, and under cover of the 
bushes at the base of the hill he rapidly approached the 
narrow mouth of the valley. He partly rounded the jut- 
ting spur of rocks and timber, trembling to hear the fren- 


The Tragedy at the River. 


215 

zied yells that were now ringing on the night air close 
by him, and finally he paused alongside of a bowlder that 
stood, amid dense scrub, within six feet of the swiftly 
flowing stream. 

By rapid running, and by steering a fairly straight 
course, Linn had actually got ahead of the pursuit — a 
fact which he discovered the moment he peered around 
the edge of the rock. What he saw made his heart throb 
and his eyes dilate. 

Bruce must have tried doubling and twisting at first 
to throw his pursuers off the track, instead of making a 
bee-line for the mouth of the valley. He had partly suc- 
ceeded in this, and had gained enough of a start to en- 
able him to take to the river at some distance below the 
Indian camp. Now he was in mid-stream, swimming 
lustily and diagonally ior the opposite bank, and his bob- 
bing head and splashing arms were what Linn saw from 
the bushy nook behind the bowlder. 

The fugitive was still some fifty feet above Linn’s hid- 
ing-place, and the pursuing horde of Indians, led by Deer- 
foot, were half that distance in the rear. They were 
tearing along the bank, whooping and yelling, but not 
firing a single shot. This meant beyond a doubt that 
Deerfoot still believes the escaped prisoner to be Linn, 
and wanted to take him alive. 

By this time a silvery moon was peeping over the hill- 
tops that hemmed in the valley, though a mass of clouds 
completely covered it. But suddenly the cLr.ds rolled 
awav, and as the flood of light poured down on the river, 
Deerfoot and his companions uttered yell after yell of 
rage. They had discovered the identity of the fugitive. 

Linn riveted his eyes on the scene, trembling with fear 
for his friend, and knowing that he was powerless to 
help him. The tragic scene that followed the recognition 
passed quickly. The Indians made a spurt along the 


2l6 


The Tragedy at the River* 

grassy shore that brought them parallel with the swim- 
mer, who was now within six feet of the opposite bank, 
and almost directly across from Linn. Then half a dozen 
rifles flashed and cracked, and Bruce vanished under the 
foaming current. 

Linn gritted his teeth with impotent rage as he watched 
vainly for the lad to reappear. But he did not come up 
again. Evidently the bullets had done their deadly work, 
and the current was rolling Bruce’s body over the pebbly 
bottom of the stream. 

With triumphant cries the Indians gathered on the bank 
for a moment, gazing at the spot where their victim had 
disappeared. Then two braves plunged into the water 
and struck ‘out for the further shore. An instant later, 
in obedience to an imperative summons from Deerfoot, 
the rest of the band turned back up the slope, and sped 
away in the direction of the camp. 

“I know what that means,” muttered Linn. “They 
want to settle scores with me now, and when they find 
that I have escaped they will be after me full cry. I dare 
not stay here a second, and 1 couldn’t do any good if I 
did stay. Poor Bruce is dead — there’s no doubt about 
that. Well, I did my best to save him, and if I ever get 
the chance I’ll settle scores with his murderers. And 
now to warn the soldiers. There are ten miles of hostile 
country between me and Major Dallas’ column, and a de- 
tour will add three or four more to it. I’ve got a hard 
task ahead of me, and one that requires both cunning and 
speed.” 

On hands and knees Linn crept forward through the 
bushes until he was twenty yards below the two Indians 
who were searching zealously along the opposite bank 
of the river for Bruce’s body. Then, being now clear of 
the valley’s mouth, he rose to his feet and settled into a 
brisk trot, heading southwestward over the open country. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


SAFE IN CAMP. 

The spot where the field column was encamped had 
been selected by Major Dallas more on account of its ad- 
vantages in the way of forage and water, than because of 
its utility for defense. It was a semi-circular strip of 
level soil, covered with rich and luxuriant grass that af- 
forded the best of browsing for the horses. In the back- 
ground — toward the south — rose a tall, rocky mountain, 
a single and detached spur, and the only one in the neigh- 
borhood. In front, forming a loop in its erratic course, 
flowed a shallow stream of swift and sparkling water. 
To right and left, and straight ahead toward the north, 
stretched the undulating and sage-covered plains. 

Here the troops had been lying for three days, resting 
after the hot conflict with the Sioux, and the bootless 
marching and scouting, and waiting in vain for intelli- 
gence that would bring them once more face to face with 
a large body of the enemy. An attack was not dreamed 
of, for it was generally believed that the Indians were 
still scattered far and wide, craftily hiding in inaccessible 
nooks and strongholds, and watching for a chance to fall 
upon scouting detachments. 

At two o’clock on the morning of the fourth day peace 
and quiet brooded over the sleeping camp, and the silvery 
moon peeped down at intervals from the fleecy masses of 
clouds that were blowing over the sky. 

The space between the mountain and the river was 
dotted with a few white tents, and with the motionless 


2iS 


Safe in Camp. 

forms of the troopers slumbering beside the faintly-glow- 
ing fires. In the rear the horses were picketed, close to 
several supply wagons which had safely made their way 
to ihe column through a hostile country. Here also stood 
the hospital tent, containing a dozen patients who were 
convalescing from wounds received in the recent fight. 
Along the banks of the river, and to right and left of the 
camp, paced the watchful sentries. 

In his tent near the middle of the camp sat Major Dal- 
las, frequently rubbing his drowsy eyes as he wrote dis- 
patches by the feeble light of a swinging lamp. At a 
quarter past two, just as he was ready to put aside pen and 
paper, he heard a challenge from a distant sentry ring 
clearly on the still air. A faint response followed, and 
then came a call for the officer of the night. 

“I wonder what that means,” muttered the major, as he 
instinctively rose to his feet and reached for his cap and 
pistols. 

The question was answered a minute later. Footsteps 
approached the tent, and the glow of the lamp revealed 
two figures outside the door. 

'‘Major, here is Corporal Osborne, just arrived,” ex- 
claimed the voice of Lieutenant Blair, the officer on duty. 

“Yes, I’m here, Major Dallas,” said Linn, as he stag- 
gered wearily into the tent, hatless, exhausted, and cov- 
ered with dirt and briars. He dropped his heavy rifle in 
the corner, and sank down on a camp-stool. 

Lieutenant Blair saluted and turned away, and for half 
a minute the major stared in speechless astonishment at 
the bedraggled figure of his visitor. Then he hastily 
poured a small glass of liquor from a bottle and put it 
to Linn’s lips. 

“Drink that, Osborne,” he said. “Don’t hesitate — you 
need it badly. So it’s really you, alive and well ! Why, 
man, we had given you up for dead. You are officially 


Safe in Camp. 219 

reported missing. Where have you been, and how did 
you get here to-night?” 

‘Til tell you in a minute, sir,” replied Linn, as he 
drained the glass and handed it back. “I feel much bet- 
ter now — that went to the right spot. And now for my 
story, which I must tell briefly and rapidly. There’s no 
time to lose.” 

He took a long breath, and then plunged into his narra- 
tive. In a few words he sketched the fight and siege of 
a week past up in the narrow gorge, and the departure 
of Private Reily. He described more at length his cap- 
ture, and his captivity in Flying Thunder’s camp, the plan 
of attack Deerfoot had communicated to him, the escape 
and death of Bruce Cameron, and his own fortunate 
escape. 

“So you see there’s no time to be wasted, major,” he 
concluded. “I was terribly afraid I would come too late 
to save the camp, or that I would miss the way. And 
then the chances were against my getting through safely. 
I traveled as fast as I could, but I had to be constantly on 
the watch, and it was necessary to make a great many 
detours. The country to the north is full of Sioux, who 
are waiting to join Flying Thunder as he comes this way. 
He intended to attack you at daybreak, but now that I 
have escaped to give you warning, he will push on with 
his braves at full speed. They may be close at hand now. 
And there are Gray Fox and his warriors off in the other 
direction, ready and waiting to attack from the south.” 

“There is time enough,” replied the major, who had 
already decided on a plan of action. “I see my way pretty 
clearly, and am not afraid of the result. But if I succeed 
in striking a blow that ends the campaign the credit will 
be mainly yours. I don’t know how to thank you, Os- 
borne. Your courage and pluck have prevented what 
might have been a repetition of the Custer disaster. You 


220 


Safe in Camp. 

have shown wonderful ability through all your adven 
tures, and if ever a man deserved promotion it is your- 
self. I am personally glad that you have turned up alive, 
and I assure you I shall not forget this night’s work.” 

“I merely tried to do my duty, sir,” said Linn, flushing 
with pride and pleasure. 

“I wish there were more of your stamp in the army,” 
replied the major. “That trick by which you got young 
Cameron away was splendid, and you did it at the risk of 
your own life. Poor fellow ! it is a pity the sacrifice was 
in vain. The blow will not fall so heavily on Captain 
Cameron as it would have under other circumstances. He 
gave his son up for dead long ago, and the loss has made 
him a changed man. When you see him ” 

“Is Captain Cameron in camp now, sir?” interrupted 
Linn, anxiously. 

“No, he is off somewhere to the south with a consider- 
able force, and your own command, Troop A, is with 
the party. It is likely they will fall in with Gray Fox, 
and prevent him joining in this threatened attack. If so, 
I will find it a comparatively easy matter to handle Fly- 
ing Thunder and his braves. I have nine troops here, 
and men and horses are fresh and in perfect condition.” 

“May I ask you a few questions, Major?” said Linn, 
who was greatly relieved to hear that there was no imme- 
diate prospect of an interview with Captain Cameron. “I 
am ignorant of all that has happened since my capture. 
I only know that Reily reached you safely, and that there 
was a fight at the mouth of the gorge in the early morn- 
ing. Is it true that the poor fellows on the ledge were 
massacred ?” 

“Every man of them,” the major answered, sadly, “in 
spite of the gallant defense they made under your com- 
mand, and subsequently. We got up there too late to 


221 


Safe in Camp. 

save them, and found only their mutilated bodies. The 
place must have been rushed just before daylight.” 

“Then Deerfoot spoke the truth,” Linn said, hoarsely. 
“All those brave fellows killed! It is terrible! And did 
you lose many men in the fight?” 

“It was a hot scrimmage for a while,” replied the major, 
“but I had the whole column with me, and in the end 
the Sioux were beaten and dispersed with considerable 
loss of life. Our loss was thirteen killed and a number 
wounded. Troop A bore the brunt of the fight, and suf- 
fered the most. Private Reily was killed, and Lieutenant 
Dimsdale is among the number of missing ” 

“Poor Reily killed !” exclaimed Linn. “And Lieuten- 
ant Dimsdale is missing. That means he is dead, of 
course. I am awfully sorry to hear it. He was a warm 
friend of mine, and I counted on him to see me 
through ” 

He stopped abruptly, somewhat to the major^s surprise. 

“What do you mean, Osborne?” the latter asked. 

“I mean that I fear I will be blamed for the loss of the 
detachment under my command,” Linn answered, boldly. 
“Am I right, Major Dallas? Has not Captain Norman 
intimated something to that effect ?” 

“To be frank with you, he has,” replied the major. 
“But I would rather not speak about the matter at present. 
Norman may change his mind about making rash charges 
against you, It is my personal opinion, from what little 
I know, that you are not in the least responsible. It was 
a foolhardy order, your being sent off there to scout with 
a handful of men. Come what may, Osborne, you will 
find a friend in me.” 

“Thank you,” said Linn. “I feel sure now that I will 
be vindicated. I did the best I could, and obeyed orders 
as far as possible. It is unfortunate, though, that the rest 
of the party are all dead.” 


222 


Safe in Camp. 

“Others of Troop A heard your orders,” replied the 
major, “and can speak for you. By the way, Osborne, 
this is a remarkable thing about Deerfoot. Now that he 
is alive and with his father, Flying Thunder has no ex- 
cuse for carrying on the war. You say the young fellow 
escaped from the cavern, and made his way back to Da- 
kota.” 

“That is the story he tells, sir, and I have no doubt it 
is correct.” 

“And you were an old friend of his, and also a friend 
of Bruce Cameron’s?” 

“Yes, major.” 

“Then Carlisle was your home before you enlisted?” 

“It was, sir,” Linn answered, in a low tone. 

There was a brief pause. The major seemed to be 
thinking hard as he watched the lad. Linn saw trouble 
and recognition in store for him in the future, when he 
should be brought face to face with Captain Cameron, 
and for a moment he was tempted to confess all to his 
commanding officer and ask for his aid. But before he 
could make up his mind the major said sharply: 

“It is time to prepare for action, and the minutes are 
precious. Lie down here in my tent, Osborne, and try 
to get some sleep. You need it badly. I am going to 
give Flying Thunder and his band a little surprise.” 

“I want to take part in the fight, sir,” replied Linn. 
“A very little sleep will do for me.” 

“Still thirsting for danger, eh?” the major answered, 
grimly. “Very well, Osborne, I will waken you before 
we start, and assign you to a troop. But see that you 
sleep in the meantime.” 

With this Major Dallas hurried from the tent, and a 
moment or two later there was a stir and bustle through- 
out the camp. But Linn heard nothing of it. His 
troubles were already forgotten in deep slumber. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


the: tight at daybreak. 

It wanted a quarter to three o'clock when the interview 
between Linn and Major Dallas ended. The latter hastily 
summoned his officers, and communicated to them what 
he had heard. A brief discussion followed, and all quick- 
ly agreed on what seemed to them the best measures to 
be taken. 

“We can do na better, gentlemen, at such short notice,” 
said the major. “I am inclined to think, however, that 
the opportunity is a promising one, and that it may end 
the campaign. It is understood, then, that we shall ad- 
vance northward to meet Flying Thunder’s band, and try 
to fall upon them unawares. One troop will remain to 
guard the camp, and if attacked by Gray Fox — which I 
regard as unlikely — they can hold out until our return. 
And now lose no time in carrying out your orders. We 
must start in twenty minutes, if possible.” 

Instructions were obeyed with as much alacrity and pre- 
caution as Major Dallas could have desired. In five min- 
utes every trooper was on his feet, eager to march against 
the enemy. Rapidly, but with silence, the horses were 
unstaked and saddled, arms and equipments were inspect- 
ed, and cartridges were distributed in large quantities. 
The embers of the fires were extinguished, and mounted 
patrols were sent out north and south. 

While these preparations were going on the camp was 
put in shape for defense. A small square was marked 
out, having for its rear side the precipitous base of the 


224 


The Fight at Daybreak. 

mountain. Earthworks were rapidly thrown up on the 
remaining three sides, and within the inclosure were 
placed the supply wagons, the hospital tent, and the troop 
which the major had detailed to stay behind. 

All was in readiness by twenty minutes past three. An 
orderly was sent to waken Linn, and the young corpora' 
hurried from the tent, looking as fresh as though he had 
slept for twenty-four hours, instead of a few minutes 
He was given a mount, and assigned to duty witl 
Troop D. 

Several minutes later the order to march rang sharply 
on the night air. Without note of bugle, and with no 
more noise than the muffled trampling of hoofs on the 
soft grass, troop after troop rode out of the camp, forded 
the shallow bed of the river, and trotted briskly over the 
plain to the north. The patrols kept some distance in 
front, and for half an hour the column advanced without 
detecting any signs of the enemy. 

At about four o’clock, when the camp was three miles 
in the rear, Major Dallas drew up his force in a long 
line behind a ridge of ground that stretched east and west, 
and overlooked a wide hollow through which the Sioux 
were likely to come. The moon was hidden under clouds, 
and the darkness gave promise of a successful ambuscade. 

The column had barely taken its stand in this position 
when the patrols came riding in and announced that they 
had heard the tramp of many hoofs toward the north. 
By the major’s orders the men at once dismounted, staked 
the horses, and posted themselves in the low growth of 
bushes on the very summit of the ridge, from where they 
could see plainly into the shadowy hollow that lay be- 
yond. 

Five minutes passed in silence and suspense. Then the 
muffled pounding of hoofs was heard, and the noise 
swelled louder and nearer. Soon a dark mass loomed in 


225 


The Figlit at Daybreak. 

sight, and now the light of the moon, as it peeped from 
under the clouds, showed the hollow to be filled with 
Sioux from side to side. As nearly as the major could 
judge, the number of the enemy amounted to seven or 
eight hundred. 

On they came at a trot, so confident of taking the camp 
by surprise that they had no spies thrown out in front. 
They reached the base of the ridge, and began to ascend 
into the jaws of the deadly and unsuspected ambuscade. 
When they were half-way up, the moon shone full upon 
them, revealing the shaggy little ponies, the hundreds of 
dusky, {Sainted faces, and the glittering array of spears 
and rifles. 

“Now let them have it, men,” Major Dallas cried, in a 
ringing voice. “Aim low and carefully. Fire !” 

Instantly, from all along the crest of the ridge, scores 
of rifles flashed and cracked, and a terrible rain of lead 
was poured down the slope. A second volley followed, 
and then a third. Screams of rage and agony blended 
with the cheering of the triumphant soldiers. As the 
smoke lifted, and the moon’s cold glare shone through it 
the grassy slope was seen to be dotted with squirming 
forms. Riderless ponies were dashing here and there, 
and the front ranks of the Sioux, split into wide gaps 
by the leaden hurricane, had halted in terror and con- 
fusion. 

Crash! Once more the crest of the ridge vomited 
flame and smoke. Crash ! again the storm of death swept 
down the slope. With yells of vengeance, and with a 
straggling fire that did no harm, Flying Thunder and his 
braves spurred back toward the hollow, foremost and 
rearmost tangled in a struggling knot. 

A final volley was poured from the ridge, and then, 
amid the hoarse tumult and din, the trumpeter sounded 
the call to saddle. Rapidly and orderly the men mount- 


Zl6 The Fight at Daybreak. 

ed, and as the major yelled “charge!” the long line of 
blue-coats poured over the crest, and went plunging down 
the blood-stained slope after the panic-stricken foe. 

Every man thirsted for vengeance, and none were more 
cool-headed than Linn. In the terrible scenes that fol- 
lowed the young corporal took a prominent part. Just 
beyond the base of the ridge Sioux and soldiers met with 
a crash. Rifles flashed and roared, and spears and swords 
struck with clash and ring. Down went Indians and 
troopers to yield their dying breath under the trampling 
hoofs of maddened steeds. 

Major Dallas was in the very front of the melee, sup- 
ported by Troop D. Heedless of the bullets that whistled 
around him, Linn fired right and left until his pistols and 
carbine were empty. Then, with clubbed weapon, he 
spurred forward to gain the side of the major, who was 
confronting a group of Sioux that numbered among them 
Flying Thunder and his son. 

Here there was a short and desperate struggle. Fly- 
ing Thunder took deliberate aim at the major, and would 
have shot him through the heart but for Linn. The gal- 
lant young corporal knocked up the chiefs rifle so that it 
exploded harmlessly in the air. Then Deerfoot rode at 
him with a long spear, whooping with rage, but Linn’s 
horse was shot under him just then, and steed and rider 
fell together. 

By the time Linn had struggled to his feet the hand- 
to-hand conflict was over. The Sioux had broken before 
the desperate onslaught of the soldiers, and were in full 
flight down the hollow, closely pursued by the angry 
troopers. 

Linn grabbed at a riderless horse, swung himself into 
the saddle, and followed after his command. For an hour 
the pursuit lasted, and when dawn broke the Sioux were 
widely dispersed over the country to the north, and the 


227 


The Fight at Daybreak. 

line of retreat was marked by scores of dead bodies. Sev- 
eral hours before noon the column returned to camp, 
bringing in a number of prisoners, and mourning the loss 
of nearly forty men and half as many wounded. Neither 
Flying Thunder nor Deerfoot were among those captured, 
and as their bodies could not be found among the dead 
on the field there was no doubt but that the chief and 
his son had escaped. The camp had not been molested, 
nor had any trace been seen of Gray Fox and his band. 

* * * * * , * * * 

As Major Dallas had predicted, this blow really ended 
the campaign. That same evening couriers arrived from 
Captain Norman, bringing news that his force had at- 
tacked and beaten Gray Fox, and killed the chief himself, 
and that the braves had sued for peace, and were now on 
the way back to their reservation. The major sent word 
that Captain Norman should hang onto the rear of the 
Indians until they had reached the reservation, and thus 
Linn’s meeting with Captain Cameron — who was with 
Norman’s party — was postponed indefinitely. 

The next morning envoys came into camp from Flying 
Thunder, bringing an offer of submission and peace from 
that chief. Word was sent to him that he and his braves 
should return to their reservation, and there await fur- 
ther negotiations. Flying Thunder consented to do this, 
and so the campaign ended. Two days later Major Dal- 
las’ column broke camp, and began the return march to 
Fort Sandiman. It was necessarily prolonged by bad 
weather and by the transportation of the wounded, but 
after ten days of weary marching the Missouri was sight- 
ed, and the victorious and battle-scarred troopers rode in 
at the main gate of the fort. It was a stirring scene, for 
men, women, and children had turned out en masse to 
greet them. There were shouting and cheering, and 


228 The Fight at Daybreak. 

clash and blare of band music, and the clear notes of 
bugles. 

The detachment under Captain Norman had arrived 
five days before, and as Linn rode proudly across the 
parade-ground he saw the smiling faces of a number of 
old comrades of Troop A. Near the stables he passed a 
group of officers close on the left, among whom were 
Captain Norman and Captain Cameron. The latter gave 
the young corporal a glance of amazed recognition, and 
then turned to Captain Norman with an exclamation of 
surprise. They put their heads together, talking earnest- 
ly, and their eyes followed Linn as he rode on. 

“It’s all up now,” the lad reflected, with a bitter pang 
at his heart. “Captain Cameron recognized me, and I’ve 
got to face the music. It’s doubly hard, just when I 
stand in for promotion again. Bruce is dead, and so is 
Lieutenant Dimsdale — and all the poor fellows who were 
with me on that fatal scout. Norman and Cameron will 
both prefer charges against me, and I can’t refute either 
of them. Well, the sooner it is over the better.” 

Half an hour later the fort had settled down to its 
normal state of quiet. The horses were in the stables, 
and the weary men had dispersed to their quarters, there 
to wash and dress while they awaited the call to mess. 
The welcome summons came at last, and as Linn left 
hL room he came face to face in the hall with the officer 
of the guard. 

“Corporal Osborne, you are under arrest,” the latter 
said, sternly. “Here is the order, signed by Colonel 
Bromley. You must come with me to the guard-house.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


CONCLUSION. 

The colonel’s office was uncomfortably crowded that 
night, for the whole post was interested in the affair of 
Corporal Osborne, and as many as possible had gained 
admittance. Colonel Bromley was seated at his desk, 
writing leisurely, and occasionally glancing toward the 
door. To right and left of him sat and stood a number 
of officers, Captain Norman included, who were whis- 
pering in low and earnest tones. On the other side of 
the railing were half a score of privates and petty grade 
officers, some belonging to Troop A. 

There was a sudden and profound hush as Linn was 
brought into the room under custody, and every eye was 
directed to the athletic figure of the young corporal 
who had so distinguished himself in the recent cam- 
paign, and was now to be accused of grave charges — 
charges of an unexpected and startling nature, as ru- 
mor had it. 

It was just an hour since Linn’s arrest, and that 
wretched hour he had spent in the dreary guard-house, 
refusing to taste the supper that was brought him, and 
trying vainly to find a gleam of hope in the black cloud 
of disgrace that enveloped him. Now, at last, he was to 
face the ordeal, and he seemed to have nerved him- 
self for it. 

His shoulders were erect, and his arms were folded 
across his breast. His features, though very pale, wore 
a proud and half-defiant look. He glanced calmly about 


230 


Conclusion. 


the room, meeting Captain Norman’s vindictive gaze 
for an instant, and observing with surprise that neither 
Captain Cameron nor Major Dallas were present. He 
had relied on the latter to stand by him, and he deeply 
regretted his absence. 

“Corporal Osborne, come forward.” 

The colonel’s voice rang clear and stern. 

Linn stepped to the colonel’s desk, saluted, and stood 
at attention. 

“I am sorry to see /you here, Osborne,” Colonel 
Bromley began, “especially since Major Dallas has rec- 
ommended you for promotion because of your gallant 
conduct in the late fight. Various charges have been 
brought against you. The first one is for disobedience 
of orders, preferred by Captain Norman, your troop 
commander. This is the sworn accusation.” 

He read aloud a lengthy document, couched in for- 
mal and precise language. The gist of it was, to speak 
plainly, that Corporal Osborne had willfully disobeyed 
orders in leading his detachment into the ravine, thereby 
causing the death of certain men of Troop A, each be- 
ing specified by name. 

“I am not guilty, sir,” Linn responded. 

“Can you produce any witnesses in your behalf?” 
the colonel asked. 

“I am the only survivor of the detachment,” Linn 
answered. “My witnesses are all dead. If but one of 
those poor fellows were here he would clear me.” 

“But you went into the ravine, corporal, and you were 
ordered not to do so. Do you deny that?” 

“No, sir,” responded Linn. “I had to do it. Under 
the circumstances it would have been simple madness for 
me to obey my orders. Hundreds of Indians were 
behind us and on both sides. The only chance for us 


Conclusion. 


231 

was to take shelter in the ravine, and I chose that 
course.” 

“But why did you permit your detachment to fall 
into such a trap? You were told to take every pre- 
caution as you advanced.” 

“And so I did, sir ; I had patrols on the crest of 
both ridges. But it was a dark afternoon, and the Sioux 
were hidden in the scrub. I want to say this, Colonel 
Bromley, if you will permit me,” Linn added, in a more 
earnest tone : “Had I attempted to hold my ground 
when we were surprised every man of us would have 
been killed and scalped in ten minutes. Then, instead of 
being warned in time by Private Reily, the main column 
under Major Dallas would have fallen into a similar am- 
buscade and been cut to pieces. My disobedience, as 
my accuser terms it, undoubtedly saved a great many 
lives.” 

“We are not discussing that point,” said Captain 
Norman, in a low tone. “No lives need have been lost 
had you taken proper precautions in approaching the 
ravine.” 

Just then a private of Troop A, who had been listen- 
ing with keen interest from outside the railing, and prob- 
ably had a drop too much - in him, muttered, in a reck- 
lessly loud tone : 

“Why don’t he call the lad a liar to his face? The 
corporal an’t to blame, and every man in the troop knows 
it. I heard the order given that day, and I said at 
the time it was the dumbest” 

“Silence !” interrupted the angry voice of the colonel. 
“Remove that man instantly, and lock him up in the 
guard-house.” 

As the badly frightened trooper was led out of the 
room, Colonel Bromley looked thoughtfully at his fel- 
low officers. 


232 


Conclusion. 


“I think myself/’ he said, in a reflective tone, “that 
it was unwise to send so small a detachment out scout- 
ing in a hostile country, and under the command of 
so young and inexperienced an officer. 

“But we are not sitting on that question now, Os- 
borne,” he added, facing around ; “nor are we to con- 
sider what would have happened had you not led your 
detachment into the ravine. A court-martial must de- 
cide whether or not you took the proper precautions 
against surprise. I will hold you for trial, and forward 
a report to the post commander. *- And now we come 
to — — ” 

There was a sudden interruption as Captain Cameron 
entered the office by a rear door. His face was thin 
and haggard, and showed traces of the sufferings he had 
lately endured. He seated himself a few feet behind the 
colonel, and alongside of Captain Norman. 

“Do you recognize that officer?” demanded Colonel 
Bromley, as he pointed to Captain Cameron. 

“I do, sir,” Linn admitted. 

He met unflinchingly the cold and unpitying glance 
of Bruce’s father, the man who knew the dark secret of 
his life. 

“Captain Cameron has preferred grave charges against 
you, Osborne,” the colonel went on, “charges which are 
likely to terminate your promising career in the army, 
even should you be acquitted on the other complaint. 
You doubtless know to what I refer. The captain has 
told me the whole story privately. He accuses you of 
enlisting by a false name, and when you were under 
age. He furthermore declares that you ran away from 
home under a clearly proved charge of theft, and that 
you persuaded Deerfoot, the son of Flying Thunder, 
to aid you in the crime. What have you got to say 
for yourself? Is your real name Hilliard?” 


Conclusion. 


233 


“Yes,” replied Linn. “I admit that, colonel, and I 
also admit that I enlisted under age. But I swear that 
I am innocent of the robbery ” 

“Linn, Linn,” why will you persist in this wicked de- 
nial ?” exclaimed Captain Cameron, starting to his feet. 
“For your own sake, and for the sake of your father, 
make a full confession. I am sorry to have brought 
you to such a pass when you were leading a new life, 
but it was my imperative duty. Confess, my lad, and I 
will do what I can for you.” 

“I have nothing to confess, Captain Cameron,” Linn 
said, angrily, his temper getting the better of him. “Why 
am I to be hounded again by this false accusation ? I can 
only repeat what I told you before, that it was your 
own son who ” 

“Stop, stop, Linn !” cried the captain. “Oh, this is 
too much ! How dare you try to heap infamy on the 
dead — on my poor lost boy? Have you no sense of 
shame or of manhood?” 

As the captain paused, breathless with indignation, 
there was a stir in the front of the room, and Major 
Dallas pushed his way to the front. 

“Pardon this interruption, Colonel Bromley,” he ex- 
claimed, “but I was detained at my house, and could not 
get here sooner. Will you delay the proceedings for a 
moment, and permit me to have a brief conversation with 
Captain Cameron?” 

“If you insist upon it, yes,” replied the colonel. “But 
be quick.” 

Major Dallas and the captain retired to an adjoin- 
ing room, and closed the door. Five minutes dragged 
slowly by. Colonel Bromley pretended to read a pa- 
per, and his fellow officers whispered in low tones. Linn 
stood erect by the desk, wondering what was to happen 
next. 


234 


Conclusion. 


Then a thrill of expectation pervaded the room as 
the door opened and Captain Cameron and Major Dallas 
appeared. The latter walked over to the accused pris- 
oner, and took his stand beside him in a friendly man- 
ner. 

Captain Cameron staggered as he came forward, and 
his face was as white as a sheet. 

“I — I have just heard strange news, colonel,” he said, 
incoherently. “I fear it has upset me. I can hardly 
believe ” 

He turned toward the prisoner. 

“Linn, is this true?” he added. “Is it true that you 
and Bruce were prisoners together in Flying Thunder’s 
camp — that you helped him to escape at the risk of 
your own life — that you saw him slain by the Indians?” 

“It is all true, sir.” 

“Then tell me the story. Let me hear it from your 
own lips. J — I caft bear it.” 

Not a sound was heard in the room as Linn began 
the narrative. Modestly, and in clear tones, he told the 
thrilling story of his adventure in the Sioux camp. 
When he finished many glances of admiration and sym- 
pathy were leveled at him. Captain Cavneron covered 
his face for a moment, and when he took down his 
hands there were tears in his eyes. 

“It was a noble deed,” he said. “I cannot understand 
you, Linn. You have the making of a hero, and yet, 
you stoop to falsehood and deceit. I appeal to you 
again to confess — — ” 

“And again I say that I have nothing to confess. 
I swear that I am innocents Let this end the matter. 
Captain Cameron. Bruce is dead, and his lips are sealed 
forever. But if he were alive and here now he would 
confess his own guilt and clear my character. At our 


Conclusion. 


235 

last interview, he agreed to do that if he should es- 
cape ” 

"I cannot believe that/’ groaned the captain. “I can’t 
do it, Linn. My boy could not have been a liar and a 
thief. You are hardened to crime, and I am convinced 
that further appeals to you will be useless. But for 
your own sake, I am sorry — deeply sorry.” 

He sank down on a chair and covered his face with 
his hands. 

“This is a painful scene,” said Colonel Bromley — “the 
most painful in all my experience.” 

He tugged' thoughtfully at his mustache. 

“I agree with you, colonel,” said Major Dallas. “It 
is exceedingly painful. And that there is some mistake I 
firmly believe. What I have known and seen of Cor- 
poral Osborne satisfies me that he is incapable of false- 
hood and deceit. I believe in his innocence.” 

“Thank you for that, major,” replied Linn, in a low 
and grateful tone. - “In spite of appearances, I am in- 
nocent.” 

“I would remind Major Dallas, if he will permit me, 
that I also have seen a great deal of the prisoner,” said 
Captain Norman. “And from my knowledge of him I 
can readily believe in his guilt.” 

“Gentlemen, your opinions are not called for,” ex-, 
claimed Colonel Bromley. “The hearing is at an end, 
and I hold the accused for trial on all the charges. He 
shall have every''opportunity to prepare a defense. And 
now let him be taken back to his cell ” 

The colonef paused, and put one hand to his ear. 
There was a stir and bustle in the room, and a noisy 
shuffling of feet. Some one called for silence, and as the 
noise among the spectators subsided a faint and distant 
cheering was heard. All listened intently, and with looks 
of surprise and wonder. Linn’s eyes were fixed on the 


Conclusion. 


236 

floor. He was on the point of breaking down, and 
longed for the privacy of the guard-house. 

“Bless me! what does this mean?” exclaimed Colonel 
Bromley. “It is a most disorderly proceeding. It 
sounds like insubordination and mutiny. It surely can’t 
be a demonstration in favor of the prisoner!” 

“Hardly that,” replied Major Dallas. “Something of 
an unusual nature has happened.” 

The hoarse tumuli grew nearer and louder. The 
tramp of many feet mingled with frantic shouting and 
cheering. Then the door of the office was burst open, 
and as those within fell back to right and left, two fig- 
ures in faded and torn army uniforms advanced through 
the gap. Had the dead come to life? There were some 
who thought so, and little wonder, for the new arriv- 
als were instantly recognized as Lieutenant Dimsdale 
and Bruce Cameron ! 

Let us draw a veil over the affecting scene that fol- 
lowed. With # a cry of joy, Bruce fell into his father’s 
arms, and Lieutenant Dimsdale was nearly pulled to 
pieces by his well-meaning and delighted friends. Linn 
realized that he would now be cleared of the charge 
which he dreaded the most, and the revulsion of feeling 
was so great that Major Dallas had to assist the lad to 
a chair. 

Bruce quickly came over to him, and with tears in his 
eyes the captain’s son wrung the hand of the friend 
who had so nobly returned good for evil. Lieutenant 
Dimsdale greeted him warmly, too, and when some sem- 
blance of order was finally restored, Major Dallas found 
an opportunity of explaining to the new arrivals the dis- 
tressing situation in which Linn was placed. 

Then Bruce did a manly thing, and one that went 
far to redeem his past conduct. In the presence of all 
assembled, with a shamed face, but an unfaltering voice, 


Conclusion. 


237 


he told the whole bitter story of his wrong-doing at 
Carlisle, amply and completely vindicating Linn. A 
burst of applause filled the room, and after it had sub- 
sided, Lieutenant Dimsdale rose to his feet, and drew 
a folded paper from his pocket. 

“Colonel Bromley,” he said, “this is a fitting time 
for me to offer in evidence the document that I hold in 
my hand. On the morning that Private Reily reached 
the main column, and in the short time that was per- 
mitted, I persuaded him to make a written and sworn 
statement of the doings of the detachment under Cor- 
poral Osborne. I did so because I foresaw what would 
likely happen. You will admit that I acted wisely, since 
poor Reily is now dead, and all the other witnesses, and 
since Corporal Osborne is charged with what I believe 
to be unjust. Here is the paper, written and signed by 
Reily, and witnessed by myself. Will you please 
read it?” 

Colonel Bromley did read it, and as it gave a true 
account of all the doings and adventures of the little 
detachment, considerable of a sensation was created. 
Captain Norman, thinking it the best and only way out 
of the scrape, at once retracted his charges, and then 
lost no time in slipping out of the room. 

Linn was now a target for congratulations. Major 
Dallas and all the officers shook hands with him ; the 
colonel said some kind and complimentary things, and 
Captain Cameron, with tears in his eyes, openly asked 
forgiveness for his unjust suspicions and accusations. 

Then curiosity became rife as to how Bruce and the 
lieutenant had escaped, and they willingly gratified the 
audience. Briefly, the narratives were as follows : Bruce 
had escaped the Indian bullets by a quick dive, and 
when he came to the surface to breathe he was close 
under the overhanging bank of the river. He concealed 


Conclusion. 


238 

himself in the reeds until the search for him was aban- 
doned, and then he crept from the water and gained 
the open plain. 

He lost his way in the darkness, and wandered about 
for the greater part of the next day. Then, toward even- 
ing, he stumbled upon Lieutenant Dimsdale. The lat- 
ter had made his escape that morning from a party of 
Sioux who had taken him a prisoner after the battle at 
the gorge. For three more days Bruce and the lieuten- 
ant tramped toward the fort, keeping a watch for Indians, 
and unfortunately missing the line of march of the sol- 
diers. Finally they fell in with a party of teamsters, who 
were persuaded to provide them with horses, and ac- 
company them to the fort. 

******* 

Linn slept in his own quarters that night, a happier 
lad than he had been for many a long day. His case 
was not yet settled, for the fact that he had enlisted by a 
false name, and when under age, prevented him from 
getting his promotion and from further service. But 
Captain Cameron fancied that he saw a way out of that 
difficulty, and after a conference with the colonel and 
Major Dallas, he secretly telegraphed to Mr. Hilliard. 

Meanwhile, during the days that followed, several 
things happened. The murderous Sioux had returned 
to their reservations, and were full of promises to be- 
have better in future. Flying Thunder and some of 
the leading braves of Gray Fox’s tribe surrendered 
themselves, and were confined in irons. Captain Nor- 
man requested to be transferred to some other post, and 
the matter was so quickly arranged at Washington by 
telegraph that in three days the commander of Troop 
A left Fort Sandiman for a post further west, regretted 
by few, and mourned by none. 


Conclusion. 


239 


Mr. Hilliard arrived the morning after the captain’s 
departure, and the interview between father and son was 
a very affecting one. Linn freely forgave, and the proofs 
of his father’s sincere affection for him made him a 
happy lad. 

Captain Cameron offered, by way of amends for his 
unjust treatment, to get Linn an appointment to West 
Point, and the offer — which promised to realize the lad’s 
highest ambitions — was gladly accepted. Linn and his 
father immediately returned to Carlisle, where the young 
soldier received quite an ovation, for the news of his 
brief and gallant military career had preceded him. 

Within a week or two Linn’s enlistment was nullified 
by the War Department, and he settled down to hard 
study. During the following summer he received the 
promised appointment, passed the examinations with 
credit, and was duly entered at the famous institution on 
the Hudson. 

Our young hero is now in his second year at the mil- 
itary school, and it is understood that when he gradu- 
ates he will be assigned to duty with his old troop at 
Fort Sandiman, where Lieutenant Dimsdale, and Major 
Dallas, and th*e other friends he made in the past, will 
gladly welcome him back as a full-fledged and gallant 
officer. 

Bruce’s misconduct forfeited his chances of a mili- 
tary career, and he is now engaged in business with 
an uncle who resides in an Eastern city. He seems to 
have taken a liking to it, and gives promise of becom- 
ing a useful and honorable citizen. 

Steve Halsey is leading a worthless and idle life, and, 
unless he reforms, will come to a bad end. He re- 
moved and spent the portion of the stolen money 
which he and Bruce concealed in the neighborhood of 


Conclusion. 


24- 

Alexander’s Cave, and his father had to make good the 
amount to Captain Cameron. 

Flying Thunder has been released, and is now con- 
ducting himself as a good Indian should. Deerfoot lives 
on the reservation, having stoutly refused to return to 
Carlisle, and it is the opinion of army officers that he. 
will make a better chief than his father. Doubtless, some 
time in the future, the young Sioux and Linn Hilliard 
will renew the friendship which began and ended under 
such strange and thrilling circumstances. 


THE End. 


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His Fatal Vow. By Leon De Tinseau .23 Arrow 

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His Great Revenge, Vol. II. By Fortune Du Boisgobey. .55 Magnet 

His Perfect Trust. By a popular author 69 Eagle 

Holding the Fort. By Ensign Clarke Fitch, U. S. N...— 11 Columbia 
Homestead on the Hillside, The. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes.. 60 Arrow 

Honorable Mrs. Vereker, The. By The Duchess 62 Arrow 

House of the Wolf, The. By Stanley J. Weyman 10 Arrow 

House of Seven Gables, The. By Nathaniel Hawthorne. .54 Arrow 

Humanity. By Sutton Vane 92 Eagle 

Hunchback of Notre Dame, The. By Victor Hugo 90 Arrow 


I 


Ideal Dove, An. By Bertha M. Clay 119 Eagle 

In All Shades. By Grant Allen 22 Arrow 

In Barracks and Wigwam. By Wm. Murray Graydon 36 Medal 

Inez. By Augusta J. Evans 82 Arrow 

Ingomar. By Nathan D. Urner 25 Arrow 

In His Steps: What Would Jesus Do. By Rev. Chas. M. 

Sheldon -. 1 Alliance 

In Love’s Crucible. By Bertha M. Clay 70 Eagle 

Inspector’s Puzzle, The. By Charles Matthew 84 Magnet 

In Sight of St. Paul’s. By Sutton Vane 129 Eagle 

In the Golden Days. By Edna Lyall 1...71 Arrow 

In the Reign of Terror. By G. A. Henty 35 Medal 

Iron Pirate, The. By Max Pemberton 48 Arrow 

Ishmael; or, in the Depths. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. 

Southworth 86 Arrow 


J 


Jack. By Alphonse Daudet 59 Arrow- 

Jack and Three Jills. By F. C. Philips 14 Arrow 

Jack Archer. By G. A. Henty 19 Medal 

Jess: A Tale of the Transvaal. By H. Rider Haggard — 83 Arrow 
John Needham’s Double. By Joseph Hatton 41 Magnet 


Jud and Joe, Printers and Publishers. By Gilbert Patten.. 33 Medal 


K 

Kidnapped. By Robert Louis Stevenson 15 Arrow 

King or Knave. By R. E. Francillon 7 Arrow 

King’s Stratagem and Other Stories, The. By Stanley J. 

Weyman Arrow 

King’s Talisman, The. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 21 Columbia 

Kit Carey’s Protege. By Lieutenant Lionel Lounsberry. . . . 8 Medal 
Klondike Claim, A. By* Nicholas Carter 1 Magnet 


1 ^ 

Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss M. E. Braddon 

Lady Evelyn. By May Agnes Fleming 

La Tosca. By Victorien Sardou.. .................... 

Lawyer Bell from Boston. By Robert Lee lyler, 
Lena Rivers. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes 

5 


.94 Arrow 
141 Eagle 
.61 Eagle 
.63 Eagle 
.56 Arrow 


Leslie’s Loyalty. By Charles Garvice 17 Eagle 

Lieutenant Carey’s Luck. By Lieutenant Lionel Louns- 

berry 4 Medal 

Light That Failed, The. By Rudyard Kipling 1 Arrow 

Lilian, My Lilian. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 106 Eagle 

Little Coquette Bonnie. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller — 43 Eagle 

Little Cuban Rebel, The. By Edna Winfield 68 Eagle 

Little Lady Charles. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands 139 Eagle 

Little Lightning, the Shadow Detective. By Police Cap- 
tain James 70 Magnet 

Little Minister, The. By J. M. Barrie 96 Eagle 

Little Sunshine. By Francis S. Smith 10 Eagle 

Little Southern Beauty, A. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.. 25 Eagle 

Little Widow, The. By Julia Edwards 13 Eagle 

Living Lie, A. By Paul Bourget 8 Arrow 

Locksmith of Lyons, The. By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck 83 Eagle 

Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold. By Charles Garvice 85 Eagle 

Los Huecos Mystery, The. By Eugene T. Sawyer 51 Magnet 

M 

Macaria. By Augusta J. Evans 80 Arrow 

Maddoxes, The. By Jean Middlemass 38 Arrow 

Major Matterson of Kentucky. By the author of Dr. Jack.. 58 Eagle 

Maltese Cross, The. By Eugene T. Sawyer 61 Magnet 

Man from India, The. By Nicholas Carter 50 Magnet 

Man of Mark, A. By Anthony Hope 98 Arrow 

Man Who Vanished, The. By Nicholas Carter 114 Magnet 

Man With a Thumb, The. By Barclay North 113 Magnet 

Marjorie Deane. By Bertha M. Clay 79 Eagle 

Marquis, The. By Charles Garvice 73 Eagle 

Marriage at Sea, A. By W. Clark Russell 11 Arrow 

Masked Detective, The. By Judson R. Taylor 82 Magnet 

Master of Ballantrae. By Robert Louis Stevenson 5 Arrow 

Matapan Affair, The. By Fortune DuBoisgobey 38 Magnet 

Mavourneen. From the celebrated play 76 Eagle 

Max. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 133 Eagle 

Meadowbrook. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes 79 Arrow 

Midnight Marriage, The. By A. M. Douglas 6 Eagle 

Midshipman Merrill. By Lieutenant Lionel Lounsberry. . . .15 Medal 

Mildred Trevanion. By The Duchess 40 Arrow 

Millionaire Partner, A. By Nicholas Carter 59 Magnet 

Miss Caprice. By the author of Dr. Jack 28 Eagle 

Miss Milne and I. By the author of “A Yellow Aster” 44 Arrow 

Miss Pauline of New York. By the author of Dr. Jack 23 Eagle 

Monsieur Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack 40 Eagie 

Mountaineer Detective, The. By C. W. Cobb 40 Magnet 

Mr. Lake of Chicago. By Harry DuBois Milman 19 Eagle 

Mrs. Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack 33 Eagle 

Muertalma; or, The Poisoned Pin. By Marmaduke Dey... 58 Magnet 

My Lady’s Money. By Wilkie Collins 58 Arrow 

Mysterious Case, A. By K. F. Hill 32 Magnet 

Mysterious Mail Robbery, The. By Nicholas Carter 13 Magnet 

Mystery of a Handsom Cab, The. By Fergus Hume 47 Magnet 

Mystery of a Madstone, The. By K. F. Hill 67 Magnet 

IV 

Nabob of Singapore, The. By the author of Dr. Jack 38 Eagle 

Nerine’s Second Choice. By Adelaide Stirling 131 Eagle 

New Arabian Nights, The. By Robert Louis Stevenson. . .75 Arrow 

Nick Carter and the Green Goods Men 87 Magnet 

Nick Carter’s Clever Protege. By Nicholas Carter 108 Magnet 

Nobody’s Daughter. By Clara Augusta 127 Eagle 

None but the Brave. By Robert Lee Tyler 49 Eagle 

Northern Lights. By A. D. Hall 123 Eagle 

North Walk Mystery, The. By Will N. Harben 88 Magnet 

No. 13 Rue Marlot. By Rene de Pont Jest 96 Magnet 

Now or Never. By Oliver Optic 5 Medal 

e 


o 

Off with the Old Love. By Mrs. M. V. Victor 46 Eagle 

Old Detective’s Pupil, The. By Nicholas Carter 10 Magnet 

Old Homestead, The. By Denman Thompson 53 Eagle 

Old Mortality. By Young Baxter 103 Magnet 

Old Specie, the Treasury Detective. By Marline Manly.. 45 Magnet 

On the Firing Line. By Douglas Wells 7 Columbia 

On the Back. By Barclay North 90 Magnet 

F» 

Partners, The. By Alphonse Daudet 67 Arrow 

Passenger from Scotland Yard, The. By H. F. Wood.. 107 Magnet 

Past Master of Crime, A. By Donald J. McKenzie 104 Magnet 

Peter Simple. By Captain Marryat 30 Medal 

Phantom Future, The. By Henry Seton Merriman 78 Arrow 

Phantom ’Rickshaw, The. By Rudyard Kipling 12 Arrow 

Philippines, The. By A. D. Hall 2 Historical 

Piano Box Mystery, The. By Nicholas Carter 17 Magnet 

Plain Tales from the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling 63 Arrow 

Playing a Bold Game. By Nicholas Carter 12 Magnet 

Poker King. The. By Marline Manly 80 Magnet 

Pope (Leo XIII.), A Life of the. By A. D. Hall 5 Historical 

Porto Rico. By A. D. Hall 3 Historical 

Post Office Detective, The. By George W. Goode 52 Magnet 

Prairie Detective, The. By Leander P. Ricardson 37 Magnet 

Prettiest of All. By Julia Edwards 124 Eagle 

Pretty Geraldine. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 34 Eagle 

Price He Paid, The. By E. Werner 51 Eagle 

Prince of the House of David, The. By Rev. Prof. J. H. 

Ingraham 43 Arrow 

Prisoner of Morro, A. By Ensign Clarke Fitch, U. S. N.. 4 Columbia 

Prisoners and Captives. By Henry Seton Merriman 85 Arrow 

Proud Dishonor, A. By Genie Holzmeyer 104 Eagle 

Puzzle of Five Pistols and Other Stories, The. By Nich- 
olas Carter 97 Magnet 

O 

Queen Bess. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 1 Eagle 

Queen of Treachery, A. By T. W. Hanshew 93 Eagle 

R 

Red Camellia, The. By Fortune Du Boisgobey 64 Magnet 

Red Lottery Ticket, The. By Fortune DuBoisgobey 31 Magnet 

Revenue Detectives, The. By Police Captain James 42 Magnet 

Robert Hardy’s Seven Days. By Rev. Chas. M. Sheldon.. 2 Alliance 

Rogue, The. By W. E. Norris 9 Arrow 

Romance of a Poor Young Man, The. By Octave Feuillet..46 Arrow 

Romance of Two Worlds, A. By Marie Corelli.... 18 Arrow 

Rosamond. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 57 Eagle 

Ruby’s Reward. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 2 Eagie 

Ruy Bias. By Victor Hugo 37 Arrow 

Sappho. By Alphonse Daudet '. 16 Arrow 

Saved by the Enemy. By Ensign Clarke Fitch, U. S. N.. 8 Columbia 

Saved from the Sea. By Richard Duffy 118 Eagle 

Scent of the Roses, The. By the author of Half a Truth.. 128 Eagle 
Sealed Orders; or, The Triple Mystery. By Nicholas 

Carter 95 Magnet 

Secret Service Detail, A. By Douglas Wells 5 Columbia 

Self-Raised; or, From the Depths. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. 

Southworth 87 Arrow 

Senator’s Bride, The. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 Eagle 

Senator’s Favorite, The. Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 5 Eagle 

Shadowed by a Detective. By Virginia Champlin 106 Magnet 

Shadow of a Crime, The. Hall Cain© 84 Arrow 

7 


Shenandoah. By J. Perkins Tracy 87 Eagle 

Sherlock Holmes Detective Stories, The. A. Conan Doyle. 72 Magnet 

She’s All the World to Me. By Hall Cain© 2 Arrow 

She Doved Him. By Charles Garvice 117 Eagle 

Sign of the Crossed Knives, The. By Nicholas Carter.. 79 Magnet 

Sign of the Four, The. By A. Conan Doyle 17 Arrow 

Silver Ship, The. By Leon Lewis 18 Medal 

Siren’s Love, A. By Robert Lee Tyler ..31 Eagle 

Society Detective, The. By Oscar Maitland 34 Magnet 

Soldier Monk, The. By Ensign Clarke Fitch, L T . S. N...17 Columbia 

Soldiers Three. By Rudyard Kipling '. 65 Arrow 

Soldier’s Pledge, A. By Ensign Clarke Fitch, U. S. N...12 Columbia 

Son of Mars, A. By the author of Dr. Jack 108 Eagle 

Spain and the Spaniards. By B. Essex Winthrop 8 Historical 

Span of Life, The. By Sutton Vane 103 Eagle 

Spider's Web, The. By the author of Dr. Jack 71 Eagle 

Squire John. By the author of Dr. Jack 134 Eagle 

Steel Necklace, The. By Fortune DuBoisgobey 27 Magnet 

Stella Stirling. By Julia Edwards 62 Eagle 

Stolen Identity, A. By Nicholas Carter 9 Magnet 

Stolen Pay Train and Other Stories, Theu By Nicholas 

Carter 101 Magnet 

Stolen Race Horse and Other Stories, The. By Nicholas 

Carter .-. Ill Magnet 

Story of an African Farm, The. By Olive Schreiner 91 Arrow 

Stranglers of Paris; or, The Grip of Iron, The. (From the 

Celebrated Play) 28 Arrow 

Study in Scarlet, A. By A. Conan Doyle 3 Arrow 

Suspense. By Henry Seton Merriman 88 Arrow 

Sweet Violet. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 91 Eagle 

Swordsman of Warsaw, The. By Judson R. Taylor 20 Columbia 

T 

Tempest and Sunshine. By Mary J. Holmes.. 53 Arrow 

That Dowdy. By Mrs. Georgia Sheldon 44 Eagle 

That Girl of Johnsons’. By Jean Kate Ludlum 140 Eagle 

Thelma. By Marie Corelli 55 Arrow 

Theodora. By Victorien Sardou 29 Eagle 

Three Musketeers, The. By Alexander Dumas 77 Arrow 

Thrice Wedded. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 55 Eagle 

Through the Fray. By G. A. Henty : 25 Medal 

Tina. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 77 Eagle 

Titled Counterfeiter. A. By Nicholas Carter 3 Magnet 

Toilers of the Sea. The. By Victor Hugo 30 Arrow 

Tom and Jerry, The Double Detectives. By Judson R. 

Taylor 98 Magnet 

Tracked Across the Atlantic. By Nicholas Carter 4 Magnet 

Tragedy in the Rue de la Paix, The. By Adolphe Belot 32 Arrow 

Treasure Island. By Robert Louis Stevenson 24 Arrow 

True to the Old Flag. By G. A. Henty 29 Medal 

Try Again. By Oliver Optic 9 Medal 

Twenty Years After. By Alexander Dumas 99 Arrow 

Twin Detectives, The. By K. F. Hill 74 Magnet 

Twixt Love and Hate. , By Bertha M. Clay 95 Eagle 

Two Keys. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 7 Eagle 

Two Plus Two. By Nicholas Carter i 73 Magnet 

U 

"Uncle Sam’s Ships. A History of our Navy. By A. D. 

Hall 6 Historical 

Under Fire. By T. P. James 75 Eagle 

Under His Thumb. By Donald J. McKenzie 28 Magnet 

Under the Deodars and Story of the Gadsbys. By Rudyard 

Kipling 70 Arrow 

Unseen Bridegroom, The. By May Agnes Fleming 136 Eagle 

Up the Ladder. By Lieutenant Murray. 13 Medal 

8 


V 

Van Alstine Case, The. By Nicholas Carter 77 Mag-net 

Van, the Government Detective. By Judson R. Taylor 92 Magnet 

Vendetta. By Marie Corelli 36 Arrow 

Verdant Green, Mr., The Adventures of. By Cuthbert 

Bede, B. A 34 Medal 

Vestibule Limited Mystery, The. By Marline Manly 57 Magnet 

Victoria, Queen and Empress. By A. D. Hall 9 Historical 

Violet Lisle. By Bertha M. Clay 14 Eagle 

Virgie’s Inheritance. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 88 Eagle 

Virginia Heiress, The. By May Agnes Fleming 9 Eagle 

Vivier, of Vivier, Longmans Co., Bankers. By Barclay 

North 94 Magnet 

* N , W 

Wall Street Haul, A. By Nicholas Carter 6 Magnet 

Wanted by Two Clients. By Nicholas Carter 81 Magnet 

War Reporter, The. By Warren Edwards 97 Eagle 

W’asted Love, A. By Charles Gai’vice 24 Eagle 

Wedded for an Hour. By Emma Garrison Jones 81 Eagle 

Wedded Widow, A. By T. W. Hanshew 137 Eagle 

W'heeling for Fortune. By James Otis 20 Medal 

When London Sleeps. From the Celebrated Play 

By Chas. Darrell 105 Eagle 

White Company, The. By A. Conan Doyle 81 Arrow 

W T hite King of Africa, The. By William Murray Graydon..l6 Medal 

White Squadron, The. By T. C. Harbaugh 120 Eagle 

Whose Was the Crime? By Gertrude Warden 132 Eagle 

Whose W T ife Is She? By Annie Lisle 110 Eagle 

Widowed Bride, A. By Lucy Randall Comfort 86 Eagle 

Widow Lerouge, The. By Emile Gaboriau 15 Magnet 

Wilful Winnie. By Harriet Sherburne 72 Eagle 

Witch Hazel. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 66 Eagle 

Wolves of the Navy. By Ensign Clarke Fitch, U. S. N..13 Columbia 

Woman Against Woman. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands 52 Eagle 

Woman’s Hand, A. By Nicholas Carter ....16 Magnet 

Won at West Point. By Lieutenant Lionel Lounsburry. .21 Medal 

Won by the Sword. By J. Perkins Tracy 65 Eagle 

Won by Waiting. By Edna Lyall 45 Arrow 

Workingman Detective, The. By Donald J. McKenzie. . .110 Magnet 

Wormwood. By Marie Corelli • 47 Arrow 

Worth Winning. By Mrs. Emily Lovett Cameron 52 Arrow 

Wreck of the South Pole, The. By Charles Curtz Hahn.. 22 Columbia 

Y 

Yale Man. A. By Robert Lee Tyler 45 Eagle 

Yankee Champion, The. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 78 Eagle 

Yankee Lieutenant. The. By Douglass Wells 1 Columbia 

Young Colonists. The. A Story of Life and War in Africa. 

By G. A. Henty 14 Medal 

Young Mistley. By Henry Seton Merriman 95 Arrow 


9 



Frank Merriwell | 
Stories I 


IO modern series of tales for boys and youth | 
has met with anything like the cordial recep- g 
tion and popularity accorded to the Frank | 
I Merriwell Stories, published exclusively in | 
Street & Smith’s Tip Top Weekly, a publication which | 
has today a circulation larger than that of all similar f 
publications combined. 

There must be a reason for this, and there is. Frank 
' Merriwell, as portrayed by the author, is a jolly, whole- 
souled, honest, courageous American lad, who appeals 
to the hearts of the boys. 

He has no bad habits, and his manliness inculcates 
the idea that it is not necessary for a boy to indulge in 
petty vices to be a hero. Frank MerriwelPs example 
is a shining light for every ambitious lad to follow. 

There is sometimes, with parents, a prejudice against 
all forms of boy’s literature in novel style. 

We earnestly ask all parents to examine the Tip 
Top, confident that they will commend it to their boys 
as suitable and profitable to be read. 

Issued Weekly Sold by all Newsdealers 

Five cents a copy 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, New York 

G 10 







_ T ,riT^nTV\/ A weekly publication devoted to good literature. By subscription, ».« n o 
Mkiitll IRpiHnY <5.00 per year. Nov. r8. 1899. Entered as second-class matter IV II Af) 

IVlLUflL LlDlvnlV 1 ^ N V. Post-office. Street & Smith, 238 William St.. X. V. UV 


4 190 ^ 


*'T he magazine that gets better every number 

Ainslee’s ^10c. 


Men Like Ainslee’s 

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of the times. 

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pictures. 


“ Ten Tears Trial , ” 


General King’s 
Greatest Novel 

A Story of the U.S. Army 
and of the Philippines, 

Begins in 

December Ainslee’s 

Also : Five Splendid 
Short Stories ; many 
Articles, Poems and 
Pictures. 



10c 


STREET & SMITH 

Publishers 
• NEWYORK 


GEN. CHARLES KING 


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